


It's Only a Game

by heyitserinface



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 55,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3624321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitserinface/pseuds/heyitserinface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Corypheus is beaten, things in Skyhold become a bit dull and who better to shake things up than Sera.  She decides that the best way to get everyone out of their rut and dealing with their real problems is through a very elaborate and often questionable "game".  Cassandra, Cole, Varric, Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Dorian are now pawns in a game orchestrated by the wildcard herself, which can only lead to a night that none of them will forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Midnight Soiree

Things had become quiet at Skyhold- too quiet.  Corypheus had been defeated, the last of the rifts were being closed, and nobody seemed to want to test the power of the Inquisition anymore, which meant, no one at Skyhold had their guard up.  It seemed like every night was a celebration, drinking and laughing, sharing stories and triumph, it had all become very… self-indulgent.  Those who had followed the Inquisitor into battle, been ready to die by her side and for the cause that they so heavily believed in, now spent their days faffing about the Keep’s walls, only occasionally running errands with their leader.

The whole thing made Sera restless.

Sure, she was always the first in line when it came to having a good time, but all the talk of “peace” and “finally some rest” had grown tiresome.  She could see it, but no one else really seemed to notice. She watched from her window in the tavern as the people she had grown to call her friends would pass by- Cassasandra with Varric’s new book in her hand, Dorian and Iron Bull sneaking kisses when the mage thought no one was looking, Blackwall obviously waiting for Josephine to come outside so he could “walk into her” and start up some awkward conversation about the weather.  It had become a dry and dull charade of daily life, one that sparked that itch that Sera never could resist.  The itch for mischief.

She waited and carefully planned.  There was never going to be a better trick or game than this- ever.  If anyone was going to spark some fun and intrigue in this boring lot, it was her. They needed her more than ever, they just didn’t even know it yet.

Because even though Sera wasn’t a people-person per say, she knew people.  And even though they all claimed to be at peace and happy and all that rubbish, she could really see it; the things that they could not. And only she could get them to fix it.

Part of planning was waiting for the opportune moment.  Waiting and waiting, until the opportunity finally presented itself. The Inquisitor left for a trip with her advisors, something about meeting with the allies from Tevinter. With no Inquisitor or advisors to break up the party, Sera’s plans could be put into place.

She wrote letters, one for each of them, and put them in places that they would see- on the bed, by the training dummies, in the wooden gryphon’s beak- and waited. All the planning, the sneaking about, all of it was about to make for a night none of them would be able to forget, and Sera could hardly wait for it to be time.

Midnight couldn’t come soon enough.

 

 

Cassandra held the letter in her hand tightly, bringing it close to her face in the darkness so that she could read it again.

MEET IN THE GARDEN AT MIDNIGHT.  UTMOST IMPORTANCE. DON’T BE LATE.

She had found the letter in a red envelope, her name scrawled across the front, tucked into the training dummy that she frequently sparred with.  When she had found it, there had been no one else around. It gave no hint of intent, but the questions did run through her head; was this about blackmail? A secret admirer, perhaps? It all seemed foolish, but Cassandra couldn’t set aside her curiosity enough to ignore the letter all together.

And so there she was, walking through Skyhold’s garden at midnight, bringing the letter up to her eyes just one more time to reread the same three sentences. The garden was quiet; all of the usual visitors had gone to bed long ago.  There were no torches, so the moon was the only source of light, casting an eerie blue tint over the fauna.  The air hung strong with the Embrium the Inquisitor had planted before her departure.

Cassandra walked along the stony path out into the clearing, where she began to wait. There was a large crunch from behind her, and she whipped around, hand on the hilt of her sword in a second, only to see a short figure emerging from the darkness.

“Easy there,” the figure chuckled, hands raised by his head.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were up to something.”

“Varric?” Cassandra tried to cover the disdain in her tone with confusion, but even then it was still undeniable. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Seeker.”  Varric gave a smirk.

“So you wrote the letter then.”  Cassandra couldn’t help but feel disappointed.  Of course, it had all been a ploy from Varric.  Some way for him to get another joke in, probably some gimmick from one of his stories. She regretted letting her curiosity get the better of her senses.

“You mean a letter like this?” Varric held up his hand, a red envelope between his large fingers.  “I’m guessing your’s says the same thing that mine does.”

Cassandra stared, wide eyed at the red paper square.  She closed the distance between her and Varric, taking his letter with her empty hand.

“I don’t understand,” she said.  Varric’s was identical to her’s; same message, same handwriting, but with his name scribbled on the front.

“Well, obviously someone has some bigger plan for us,” the dwarf said, cocking an eyebrow.

Just then, rustling, as Iron Bull’s large figure stepped out from some bushes and into the open garden, followed by Dorian.  They seemed genuinely surprised to see Cassandra and Varric, but Dorian’s eyes quickly lit up, his mustache curling up, wickedly.

“Well, isn’t this curious?” Dorian quipped. “You two sneaking about the garden together, in the middle of the night.  What _will_ people say?”

“You’d know a thing or two about sneaking about, wouldn’t you, Sparkler?”  Varric said as he glanced between the two men.

Dorian’s smirk was wiped from his lips as quickly as it had formed.  “Yes, well, old habits die hard I suppose.”

Cassandra shook her head, rolling her eyes slightly, and held up her’s and Varric’s envelops for Dorian to see.  Dorian took them, read them both, and then pulled out a similar envelope from his own pocket.

“Very curious, indeed.” He tried to hide his excitement, but the little creases at the corner of his eyes that formed whenever he read something fascinating in one of his books gave him away.  It made Iron Bull smile.

As if on queue, Blackwall came emerging from the darkness, similar envelope in hand.

“Ah yes, apparently anyone can be invited to this midnight soiree.”  Dorian added.

Blackwall frowned at Dorian’s comment, but said nothing.  Instead, he looked at each of their faces, trying to interpret what was going on, before finally giving up and deciding to ask.

“Did any of you get a-“

“Yes.” They all answered at the same time, leaving Blackwall to his quizzical expression.

“Does anyone have any idea what this is about?”  Varric asked.

“Too much mystery for the great novelist to handle?”  Iron Bull laughed.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I would much rather be warm in my bed, than out here in the dark.  And from what I’ve heard through your walls, you two would rather be in bed too, I imagine.” Varric raised his eyebrows at the Qunari and the Tevinter.

“Trust me, there’s no bed needed.” Iron Bull growled happily, receiving a smack on his chest from Dorian.

“I think everyone here would just like to know what’s going on.” Dorian added, trying to ignore Bull’s chuckles.

“Well then, it’s ‘bout time I told ya, yea?”

Sera, as if appearing from nowhere, stood high atop the gazebo in the garden.  The group swiveled around to look at her, Cassandra even jumping in surprise.

“Buttercup? Is that you?”  Varric shouted, squinting up at her through the darkness.

“The one an’ only!” She gave a sweeping bow.

“Did you send these letters?” Cassandra asked, pointing to the collection of red envelopes in Dorian’s hand.

“Course I did,” Sera answered. “An’ I made sure each an’ e’ery one of ya’s was here for the grand unveiling or whatevers.”

“What’s this about, Sera?” Blackwall, contributing to the conversation.

“Right, here’s my plan. You lot have really been bummin’ me out, right?  Like, yas don’t even know what’s wrong wif you, ya, coz you’re so focused on the whole Coryphenus thing bein’ over. So, I thought to myself, I gotta snap ‘em out of it.  Gotta make ‘em see what I see, right? An’ that’s when it hit me, I gotta be the one ta fix yas. So, we’re gonna play a little game.”

“A… game?”

“Consider it an official Red Jenny affair.  With no more baddies to shoot arrows into and slice-hack away at, ya have started to ignore what the real problem is.  And I’m here to help ya fix it.”

Sera thrust her thumb into her chest, a wide grin across her impish face.  The others weren’t sure how to react, and resorted to sharing confused expressions.

“As much as I enjoy indulging my competitive nature, I do have to wonder why you want us to play something at this Maker’s forsaken hour.”   Dorian said behind a yawn.

“It ain’t just any game, all right,” Sera explained.  “This is _my_ game.  I make the rules, you lot do the actiony-bits. I say, you do. Simple as that.”

“Rules? I already don’t like the sound of this.” Iron Bull grumbled.

Dorian couldn’t help a smirk. “Why Bull, you couldn’t possibly have sounded any more Tal-Vashoth if you had tried with that last statement.”

Bull shook his head, pushing Dorian with one strong hand.  “I meant, any rules put in place by Sera can’t be good ones.”

“He’s got a point. What exactly is this game?” Blackwall added, rubbing his bearded cheek nervously.  “You aren’t going to make us eat seeds and try to shit out flowers, are you?”

Sera snorted. “No, but I do have ta remember that one for the future.  The game is simple. I give ya a clue for a task to do, little things or activities and such, fetch this, go here, do the thing, blah blah blah.  Ya complete it and I give ya another.  Complete the things before mornin’ and ya win.”

Before anyone could ask another question, a soft voice came from behind, causing them all to jump in fright.

“Pulling the strings… strings on her puppets, her toys… but with broken wheels, need to get them going round and round, fix them… but fixing is hard… needs more strings…like a spider in her web.”

Cole sat perched atop the wooden planks on the old well, swinging his legs and kicking at the dirt below his feet.  His hat shrouded his face from what little light the moon could cast.

“Maker’s breath, kid, you need to stop doing that,” Varric sighed.  “One of these days someone’s going to try and put an arrow between your eyes out of fright.”

“Ugh, what’s IT doing here?” Sera shouted, her brows knitting together at the sight of the spirit.

“Sera is trying to help,” Cole said, his vacant eyes turning towards her.  “I want to help, too.”

“I don’t need your help, ever.”  She spat. “Last thing I need is for some demony-spiritness running around, mucking up my hard work an’ effort.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra snapped.  “I don’t have time for this foolishness.  I am going back to my room.  Goodnight.”

The Seeker turned on her heels, pushing passed Varric and towards the stone walls of the keep.

“No, trust me ya don’ want ta be doin’ that.”  Sera called after Cassandra.

“And why not?” Cassandra had stopped, her face and scar appearing harsher than usual in the darkness.

“Coz then you won’t be getting’ it back.”

It was like Sera was speaking in puzzles.  The others knew that Sera had said something important, and from the proud smirk on her face, they knew it wasn’t good.

“What are you on about? Get what back?” Varric folded his arms across his strong chest, tilting his head a little like a confused mabari.

“Well, I knew some of ya’s was a right stick in the mud and was gonna need that extra kick in the arse, so I might have set up a few little bumps to get ya all going in the right direction.”  She kicked at the air and began to cackle, snorting a little.

“Like?”

“I took ‘em.”

“Took what?”

“The things that are the most special to ya each.”

“Which is?”

“Think ‘bout it,” she said, watching their faces as each reacted slowly to what she was saying. “I’ve been watching ya, right? I know what’s important, what ya cherish and all that.  It was probably the easiest part of putting the ‘ole thing together.”

Iron Bull glanced down at Dorian, who was already watching the Qunari.  They held the eye contact, a silent discussion between them.

“Pulling at our strings, tugging… it’s a child’s game and we are the pawns, checkmate.” Cole’s voice ominously decorated the cold, night air, lilting slightly like an old child’s rhyme.

Cassandra reached for her pocket, her eyes widening when she realized it was empty.

“Where is it?” She murmured to herself, before loudly barking at Sera. “Where is it?”

“Nah ah,” Sera shook her head, wagging her finger back and forth.  “That’s not how ta play the game.  You don’t follow the rules, you don’t get ‘em back. Play the game ta win the prize.”

The group looked around at each other, concerned faces glancing at each other.  Cassandra looked ready to tackle Sera from her perch atop the gazebo and even took a full step toward her before Varric stepped between them, chuckling a little.

“Clever, I’ll give you that, Buttercup.”  His eyes began to twinkle as he rubbed his chin.  “But I’m calling your bluff.  I don’t think you have anything.  You’re a thief, yes, but you don’t like hurting people-well, not good people at least.”

“You’re right ‘bout that.” Sera shrugged.

“That’s what I thought,” Varric said, smugly.  “Now, I’m sure the Seeker just misplaced… whatever it is, and we can all go back to bed having shared this bizarre, yet wonderful, bonding experience together.”

“It’s true I don’t like hurting good people.,” Sera said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “I like helping. And that’s what this is. So if ya don’ wanna play, ya don’ have ta.  But I sure hope ya don’ run inta any baddies on the way to your room, coz there’s no way for ya to be blastin’ ‘em up without your favorite toy, Varric.”

It took a few seconds for her statement to settle, but soon enough Varric’s face fell, any hint of smugness gone.

“You didn’t.” He breathed.

“I sure did.”

“Bianca?”

Sera cackled loudly, almost losing her footing and falling from her perch. 

“So let me get this straight,” Varric continued, recovering from Sera’s confession by pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “I play your game and you give me Bianca back?”

“Exactly.”

“And what ever you took from everyone else, they’ll get it back too?”

“Now your startin’ ta get it!”

Varric looked to the other companions in the garden for some sort response. Blackwall’s face was as stern as ever, Cassandra appeared as if she might be sick, and Dorian and Iron Bull, who just a second ago shared a silent conversation, suddenly couldn’t look at each other.  The only person who didn’t seem completely upset by the current situation was Cole, who was still kicking away at the dirt blissfully. 

But even though they were tense, each player knew there was no easy way around this whole thing. They were at Sera’s mercy and that was a frightening thought.  Varric could see in each of their expressions that nervousness, but there was also a silent agreement.

There was nothing they could do. They had to play.


	2. The Rules

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”  Varric shook his head, as if already regretting his words.

“You can’t be serious,” Cassandra groaned.  “We aren’t really going to indulge this… this… childish whim.”

“What’s the matter, Cassandra? A little fun too much for your boring, brooding schedule to handle or somethin’?”  Sera sniggered, hands on her hips and dancing about.

Cassandra let out a low growl.

“Easy there, Seeker,” Varric intervened.  “Don’t show her all of your cards just yet.”

“This is ridiculous,” she spat, looking over the dwarf to watch Sera as she mockingly sucked on her thumb. “Don’t tell me we are actually going through with this.”

“Well, I don’t know of any other way to get our stuff back,” Varric said.  “So unless that thing you were demanding back a couple of minutes ago really isn’t that important to you, I say we do what the good lady says and just play nice.”

Cassandra’s mouth snapped shut; her lips forming a taught line.  She crossed her arms with a huff, eyes glaring.

“Now, does any one else have something to say, or are we going in this together?” Varric asked, eyes lingering on each silent face for a couple of seconds. 

The quiet was answer enough.

“Good,” the dwarf continued, gesturing towards the elf above.  “Buttercup, you have our attention.”

Sera’s eyes flared with delight.

“Oh-ho-ho-Ho! This is going to be good, ya?” Sera rubbed her hands together, devilishly.  “Right, so the way this will work, ya, is you’ll each get a clue to follow.  Follow the clue _exactly_. No kinda’s, no sorta’s. If it says to flash your bum at an old woman while singing some Tevinter National Anthem shite, you better do jus’ that.”

Sera spun around, lifting the flap of her shirt above her behind, bending over to look at everyone’s upside-down faces between her legs.  The whole display got a grimace from Cassandra and Blackwall, which was more than enough to send Sera into another fit of giggles.

“Right, _exactly._ ”  She continued, standing up.  “And don’ think I won’ know if you’re cheatin’ and not doin’ what the clue tells ya to. I’ll be watchin’ ya, each of ya, very closely.  I’ve been plannin’ tonight for a long time, so I know where you’ll be an’ when. I won’t be missin’ anything that happens.  Follow the clue to the next one and then the next and next, and then your prize ‘ll be at the end.”

“Follow the clues, complete the tests, win the prize,” Dorian rattled off, his voice lilting with his humorous tone.  “Blackwall, is that simple enough for you to follow?”

Blackwall scowled. “Ha, very funny.  I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Iron Bull said, as if purposefully interrupting Dorian from returning with another sarcastic remark.  “What’s the catch?”

“None, ya dope,” Sera said. “Do what I say, win the prize.”

“Fine. I think we all understand how to play,” Varric shook his head.  “What’s our first clue?”

“First things first, ya need to split and pair up.”

Without another word, Dorian and Iron Bull drifted closer together, pairing up, leaving the other three to stand and watch them awkwardly.

“I can help.” Cole, who was no longer sitting on the well, appeared suddenly next to Varric, causing the dwarf to curse loudly. “I want to play, too.”

“No way,” Sera grumbled. “You can’t just invite yourself in and ruin all the fun.  This is official non-spirity weirdo business.”

“But, I want to play.” Cole’s pale eyes and fair hair seemed even more ghostly in the moonlight.  “Everyone always remembers how happy games make them.  Cullen thinks about the games he played with his sister, and The Iron Bull is always thinking about the games he uses to help him drink more with the Chargers.  They are always happy thoughts.  I want to know how that happy feels.  I want to play and feel happy, too.  Please, Sera?”

Before Sera could spit out her tongue and tell him to get lost, Varric spoke up.

“Come on, let him play,” the dwarf smiled.  “It can’t hurt any. Besides, you want us to pair up, but there’s only five of us.  We could use the extra man.”

Sera tapped her foot restlessly.  “Uuuggghhh, fine. It can play,” she groaned.  “But I want no funny business.  No messin’ in my head or noffin’, tryin’ to figure out the clues.”

Varric slapped a meaty hand onto Cole’s shoulder.  “Hear that, Kid? You’re in.  Welcome aboard.  You can be my partner for tonight, if you like.”

Cole gave a small smile and nodded, the brim of his large hat bobbing above Varric’s head.

That just left Cassandra and Blackwall, who shared a stoic nod towards one another. Everyone was paired off…

Sera began to bellow laughter, gripping at her sides, bent double.  The group looked around for what had caused the outburst but couldn’t find anything.

“What’s so funny?” Varric asked, a worried smile on his face.

“You lot!” Sera laughed, wiping a tear from her eye.  “You guys tickle me, ya really do.  Ya actually think I’m gonna let Broody-Beards and the Meat-Jousters be paired together? Well, I guess it is true what they say, ‘if ya want somethin’ done right, ya gotta grab her by the hair and do her from behind’ or somethin’ like that.  It might be a little different.  My brains all mush, I can’ really remember anymore. Anyways, I already picked the pairs for yas.”

Sera reached into her pocket and withdrew three red envelopes.  As if remembering something, she slipped her hand into one of her boots and withdrew a charcoal stick.  Tongue out in concentration, she quickly scribbled on one of the envelopes, stashing the charcoal back into her boot when she finished.

She waved them victoriously before tossing them down onto the grass below.  Dorian, the closest, slowly bent down to pick them up.

“Are you joking?” He scoffed, reading the names on the envelopes. “Dorian ‘Fancy Pants’ and Blackwall ‘Grump Face’.”

Dorian glanced up to see Blackwall cover his face with his hand.

Dorian read the next envelope.

“Horny and Creepy.” Dorian held up the envelope that had clearly been added to with the charcoal. 

Iron Bull glanced at Cole. “I’m guessing that’s us,” he sighed.

“And that leaves…” Dorian didn’t need to finish.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Varric sighed, catching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, before turning his head towards a very disgruntled Cassandra. “This is going to be a very long night,” the Seeker said through pursed lips.

Dorian handed her the envelope that had her’s and Varric’s names written on the front. He also handed Iron Bull’s his, before reluctantly walking across to go stand beside an indignant Blackwall.

“I’m glad ya all like your new partners,” Sera said, dancing on the balls of her feet. “You have your first clues in the envelopes, so all that’s left now is for ya to get started.  Remember, _exactly_ as it says, and no short cuts. Finish before morning and the prize is yours.  No time to lose then, right? Ready. Set. GO!”


	3. I Don't Like This At All

With a final wicked grin, Sera raised her arm and threw a smoke bomb at her feet. Gray clouds billowed up from the gazebo, releasing a smell like sulfur.  When the clouds parted, she was gone.

“And people say I have a flair for the dramatic.”  Dorian rolled his eyes.

For a few brief seconds, the six companions stood, unsure of what to say or who would move first. Thankfully, Varric broke the silence.

“I guess the Great Game has started,” he said through a forced chuckle.  “Good luck, everyone.  I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”

Somehow Dorian didn’t doubt that.

Varric quickly turned to the mage and added in a hushed tone, “Twenty gold says the Seeker and I win before you and Hero over there.”

“Varric, you simply can’t resist a wager, can you?”  Dorian smirked. “It’s a shame, really. I’m starting to feel guilty taking all this money from you.”

Varric’s eyes twinkled as he nodded.  “Just put your money where your mouth is, Sparkler.”

Cassandra groaned and ripped open her team’s letter loudly, as if ordering Varric to read it with her. The dwarf obliged, no doubt the incentive of the new bet to keep him from arguing for now.

Dorian looked across the way, hoping to catch the Qunari’s eye again for a last silent conversation, but Bull already had his and Cole’s letter opened as well, and was currently reading it with focus.

Dorian had almost forgotten about his own teammate, before Blackwall cleared his throat behind him.

“Well,” he said, “I guess we had better get started then.”  The bearded man gestured towards the envelope still in Dorian’s hand.

“Isn’t anyone else questioning why we are doing this?”  Dorian asked, unable to take his eyes off of the other team’s faces as they read their letters. Cassandra squinted at hers, drawing it closer to her face to read and if Dorian didn’t know Bull’s tells already, he would have never been able to pick up on his confused signals. “Surely,” the mage continued, “there has to be an easier way to stop Sera from forcing us into participating in her childish antics.”

“And what do you suggest?” Blackwall grumbled, cocking an eyebrow. “We tie her down and Blood Magic our things back from her?  Is that what your kind would do back in Tevinter?”

“Certainly not,” Dorian scoffed.  “We would never use magic to torture her, at least, not without an audience.”

Blackwall shook his head, apparently not a fan of magic torture jokes.  Cassandra and Varric began to murmur heatedly between the two of them, and Dorian watched through the corner of his eye as Bull crushed his letter in his strong fist.  Cole, of course, seemed unphased by the act of hostility.

“All I’m saying,” Dorian continued, losing a bit of his humorous tone, “is that we are six very capable people- er, with the exception of Cole, I suppose, since he technically is a spirit- the point being, we were able to stop Corypheus and his arch demon against all odds.  Surely, we can find some ability between the six of us to avoid this whole charade and get straight to the finish line.”

“Don’t forget,” Blackwall answered, “Sera was one of those capable people who helped stop him. I’ve seen the girl take down a swarm of enemies all on her own, a bulls-eye in each of their foreheads. I’m not saying she’ll do the same to us if we don’t participate.  I’m just saying she’s a clever girl and this is obviously important to her. She’ll get us to do what she wants, one way or another.  I, personally, vote for the easy way.”

Dorian listened to Blackwall thoughtfully, even as Cassandra thrust the letter to Varric and marched out of the garden, hands clenched tightly. 

“Somehow I have a feeling this isn’t going to be easy,” Dorian breathed.

Varric chased after her, unable to do anything else.  Dorian didn’t envy him; he would have his hands full tonight.  Then again, Sera hadn’t been entirely kind with his own teammate selection…

Dorian and Blackwall weren’t enemies or anything - Maker knew Dorian could always count on the brute to have his back in battle, bedding his great sword into darkspawn skulls with skill - but they weren’t exactly friends, either.  It was understood that they had reached a point of mutual civility and understanding, but that was it.  When they had first met, Blackwall held a lot of disdain for Dorian, being from Tevinter and all.  The man didn’t seem to miss an opportunity to share his opinions on Dorian’s self-absorbed façade; and Dorian, being a man who couldn’t stand down from a fight, met those opinions with such quick-witted retaliations, Blackwall was often left to grumble some nonsense about honor.  But time changes many things, and with forced close proximity while questing through Ferelden, plus Dorian’s family issues and Blackwall’s Thom Rainier debacle coming to light, the two men settled in a comfortable relationship of mutual care for the Inquisitor and shared desires for a new start.

_I understand wanting to atone to one’s actions._

But that was as far as their camaraderie extended.  Both Dorian and Blackwall seemed content to leave it at that.

Bull and Cole had left the garden as well, leaving the mage and his teammate alone in the garden. Dorian couldn’t help but feel a little upset that he wasn’t able to form a team with Bull.  Iron Bull was smart and skilled, inventive and intuitive. He made an ideal partner for matters such as these.  But then he remembered about the item that he was sure Sera had taken from him and changed his mind.

Maybe it was a good thing that Dorian and Bull had some distance…

Dorian didn’t realize how long he had been lost in thought, but Blackwall’s patience had clearly run short. The man huffed and tapped his foot.

“Well, if you aren’t going to get started, I will.”  Blackwall took the envelope from Dorian’s hand and ripped it open clumsily. Dorian was sure he would rip the note on the inside, but by some miracle he didn’t.

Blackwall read it silently.

“Well?” Dorian asked, impatient. “What are we to do first in this grand charade?”

Blackwall sighed. “I don’t know.” He handed the note to Dorian. “It’s all in a word puzzle. I can’t understand it. This is more of your expertise than mine.”

Dorian couldn’t help but laugh.  Even though Blackwall frequently, almost annoyingly so, liked to admit how imperfect he was, it was another thing entirely for him to admit that Dorian was better at something. The words sounded wonderful in his voice.

The note was written in plain text, a couple of blotched ink marks on the ends of letters and a yellow stain in the corner that Dorian desperately hoped was just some spilled food. It read:

 

A BLONDE, A BRUNETTE, AND A REDHEAD WALK OUT OF SKYHOLD

AND NOW IT'S FINALLY TIME FOR ME TO PLAY,

I WON'T TELL YOU WEAR IT IS, BUT IT'S DEFINITELY UNDER THERE

WEAR THEY REST THEIR HEADS AT THE END OF EACH DAY.

 

Dorian thought about the words for a few moments, trying to picture what Sera could mean by it. When an idea finally struck, a smile began to curl at the corners of his lips.

 _Oh Sera,_ he thought.  _You truly are cruel._

“Well?” Blackwall asked, having watched Dorian’s face intently.  “Do you understand what she’s saying?”

“I believe so,” Dorian responded, pausing before adding, “I don’t think you’ll like it though.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it just fine.”

 

\---

 

“I don’t like this at all,” Blackwall whispered sharply into Dorian’s ear.

The mage was bent over the knob to Josephine’s bedroom, trying to pick the lock.  He silently wished the Inquisitor was with him; he had watched her pick just about every kind of lock with ease.

“What happened to your ‘this is the easy way’ attitude?”  Dorian mocked, slipping the thin metal pin around the keyhole.

“That didn’t include sneaking into ladies bedrooms while they were away,” Blackwall grumbled, nervously checking to make sure anyone else was around.  The hallway, though dimly lit with torches, was quiet and empty. Celebrations over Corypheus’ defeat were growing fewer and farther between, and most sensible people in Skyhold had gone to bed long ago.

Dorian laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t expect this. This is Sera’s game, afterall.”

Blackwall muttered into his beard, crossing his arms indignantly like a stubborn child. “Even Sera should have known this was wrong.”

“Come now, Blackwall,” Dorian said, pressing his ear a bit closer to the lock in the hopes of hearing that tiny click.  “If I didn’t know any better, I would start to think that my original offer of Blood Magic torture was starting to sound rather appealing to you.”

Blackwall scoffed. “Hardly.”  He paused for a few seconds, before turning again to the mage. “Are you absolutely sure we need to go in there?”

“I’ve already explained this,” Dorian sighed, frustrated about the lack of focus he could dedicate to his current task.   “But I suppose simpler minds do need the extra assistance sometimes.  Fine, yes, I’ll explain again.  In Sera’s note she talked about a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. That’s-“

“Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana.  Right I got that part.”

“So, the part that says ‘where they rest their heads’ is obviously their bedrooms.”

“Fine. But why aren’t we checking the Commander’s room?  Or Leliana’s old room?” Blackwall sounded as if he was grasping for any strings he could think of.  It was rather endearing, really; the way he blushed under his beard the closer Dorian got to unlocking the Ambassador’s door.  For all of his talk, Blackwall really was a man of honor and Dorian couldn’t help but smile at how clearly he was putty in Sera’s hands.

“You have to try to think like Sera,” Dorian explained.  “Sera would never mess with the New Divine, even for a harmless prank. Sera’s crazy, not foolish. Secondly, what sort of twisted amusement can she wring from sending us to the Commander’s room?”

Blackwall’s blush deepened.

“Exactly,” Dorian stifled a laugh.  “I’d bet my right arm that this is where we need to go.”

The door gave a satisfying click. Dorian jumped up, happily.

“Thank the Maker,” he sighed, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

“Andraste’s tits,” Blackwall cursed under his breath.  “What did I agree to?”

He followed closely on Dorian’s heels, not wanting to get caught in the hallway by some late night stragglers.  They closed the door behind them as soon and as quietly as they could.

Dorian quickly made a light of magic, casting a warm glow over the room.  Neither of them had been in Josephine’s room before, but it suddenly felt like an invasion of her personal space to be there without her knowing.

The room was hardly neat, but definitely did not lack order.  Decorated with fine, respectable furniture the room was filled with stacks of papers, parchments, and books.  There were a few nice trinkets here and there; a gold-platted family crest, a bottle of fine Orlesian perfume, an intricate jeweled comb by her bed.  A desk in the corner of the room was over run with scrolls and letters; two candle stubs had been melted into the wood. It was like stepping into the Ambassador’s workroom and lifting the veil to see the technique behind the woman.

“Well, then.” Dorian cleared his throat. “Shall we get started?”

“Don’t touch anything unless you have to,” Blackwall warned.  “She shouldn’t know we were here.”

“For once, we agree on something.”

The two men began to search, careful to leave everything exactly how they found it. They looked around piles of books and documents, but to no avail.  But something nagged at Dorian’s mind.  He pulled out the note again, re-reading the little passage.

“What is it?” Blackwall asked, noticing Dorian’s questioning expression.

“There’s something I don’t quite understand about the clue,” Dorian answered, biting at his lip in thought. “One of the words is misused. She wrote ‘wear’, like wearing clothes, but she meant ‘where’.  At first, I thought it might have been a mistake, but she did it twice in the same note. I think it might be a clue of some sort, but I need a bit more time to think about it.”

“Well, think faster. I don’t want to be in here much longer.”

Dorian began to pace a bit, note in hand.

_I won’t tell you wear it is, but it’s definitely under there_

“Under there?” Dorian thought out loud. “It’s definitely… under there?”

Dorian went to her bed and checked under her pillow, thinking it might be under where her head would lay at night, but there was nothing.  

Dorian's brow furrowed.  "It's going to be 'under there', wherever that is.  Under there?  Under  _there?"_

“Under where?” Blackwall asked.

_Under where. Under wear._

Dorian could hear Sera laughing, and for a second he couldn’t tell if it was only his imagination or if Sera was watching them somehow at that moment.  Either way, the answer clicked in Dorian’s mind and he gave a wicked grin.

 _Oh Sera,_ he thought.  _Again, you truly are cruel._

“I have an idea,” he said, moving towards the large wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room. “But, again, you’re not going to like it.”

“What are you doing?”

“I think Sera might have hidden the clue with the Ambassador’s… unmentionables.”

“What?” Blackwall’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“I’ll-“ Dorian started, as he moved closer to the wardrobe.

“No!” Blackwall sputtered. “No this is wrong.”

Dorian paused. Blackwall wasn’t necessarily incorrect. It was wrong for them to search through Josephines’ private things, but at the same time, if Dorian had been paired up with any other person beside Blackwall, he would have already been able to grab the clue and go.  Black wall was the only obstacle at this point.

“Blackwall, I understand your apprehension, but-“

“This is a breach of her trust.  She is a respectable lady and deserves to be treated thus.  I will not allow it.”

“I’m pretty sure breaking into her bedroom was already a breach of her trust.”  Dorian countered, receiving an icy stare from Blackwall in return. “And since we are already here, how about a proposition?  The note does not say who must retrieve the next clue so you may close your eyes, and since I am a man of different… tastes, I’ll retrieve the next clue as quickly as I can.”

Blackwall battled with the proposition for a while, before finally agreeing. “Fine,” he said, his gruff tone still sounding a bit flustered.  “But you will quickly look in- no sifting through!”

Dorian raised a hand, as if to promise he would not riffle through the absent woman’s under garments. Blackwall gave a meek nod, and then closed his eyes tightly, even covering them with his large hands.

Dorian made quick use of the wardrobe, pulling drawers open and closing them.  Finally, he found the one filled with frilly and satin under clothes and, to his relief, a red envelope sat on top.

He snatched it up, surprised that it was much heavier than the other ones.  He ripped it open and a key slid out into his hand along with another note.  On the note was a crude drawing of a bearded stick figure on top of another figure. Underneath, read:

 

“OH JOSIE-WOSIE I NEED YOU SO BAD!”

“QUICK BLACKWALL GRAB MY CHEST. THERE IT IS! THERE IT IS!”

 

Dorian rolled his eyes and stuffed the note into his pocket.  There was no way he was going to let Blackwall catch a glimpse of it, not if they had any hopes of continuing.  Sera was bringing her A-game and poor Blackwall was caught in her crossfire. Dorian almost felt sorry for the guy, being put in this situation that was so clearly uncomfortable for him. It sent a chilling thought through Dorian’s own mind.

_I wonder what Sera has in store for me._

“Okay, I have it,” Dorian called out, as he slid Josephine’s drawers closed.  “You can open your eyes now.”

Blackwall’s hands slowly fell from his face and his eyelids hesitantly fluttered open. Dorian couldn’t help but admire him for being so good and honorable.  But Dorian also couldn’t help being so bad, and added, “Although, you didn’t miss much. Those undergarments had about as much creativity and color as a blank wall.  Then again, I’m no expert on the Grey Warden’s preferences, so maybe those will still do it for you.”

“Don’t.” Blackwall warned.

Dorian had had his fun, so he let it drop, but not without a wide smirk falling on his lips. He held up the key in his hand. “I think I have an idea to what this opens.”

The two men slipped out of the Ambassador’s room, leaving no trace of them having ever been there, and made their way towards the main hall. 


	4. Why The Long Face?

Cassandra had always tried her best to come to an understanding with Sera.  After the business with the Fade, she had made sure to ask if the elf was alright and she even thought Sera’s determination to help people was a noble cause.  When Sera had insisted on playing games with Cassandra on those long walks while following their Inquisitor, Cassandra had done her best to oblige, although she was rather terrible at games.  She didn’t seem to understand the rules (plus, it didn’t help that Sera was always changing them) and many times she ended up feeling like the butt of the joke. Sera’s childish fancies had never deterred them from their goal or harmed anyone, so Cassandra had always let them be.

But now, as Cassandra watched Sera disappear into a cloud of smoke, the Seeker’s hand still thrust into her empty pocket, she thought Sera’s games had finally gone too far.

“I guess the Great Game has started,” Varric laughed.  “Good luck, everyone. I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”

Cassandra’s nostrils flared as her heart began to beat faster.  She felt hurt, mortified even.  It didn’t matter that Sera’s meddling might have been well intentioned, the elf had gone behind Cassandra’s back and taken the thing that she cherished most of all, something completely irreplaceable.  Her heart sank a little at the thought of never getting it back.

She watched as her chosen partner turned to Dorian to start a wager.

 _Typical,_ she thought.

Sometimes it seemed like the dwarf loved to push her buttons.  He liked to laugh at her, make her emotional.  That’s why Cassandra had to be careful with what she said to him. She didn’t want to give him more ammunition to use against her.

She quickly glanced towards The Iron Bull and Cole.  It was slightly comforting to see Bull’s stony face, obviously having as much fun as she was.  At least she wasn’t completely alone in this.

But her heart still did hurt. Manipulated, stolen from, paired with Varric, made a fool of.  She had come to think of the Inquisition as her family, in a way, and to still be the butt of their jokes felt almost like a betrayal. 

It was times like these that Cassandra would ask herself the question that had become a frequently asked one:

_What would the Inquisitor do?_

Inquisitor Lavellan had become one of Cassandra’s closest friends.  She had confided in her, sought her help, trusted her, and the Inquisitor had always delivered.  Like she did with everyone.  Cassandra, as much as she cared for the Dalish elf, harbored a bit of envy of her. Lavellan was able to help so many people, make so many happy, and she did it with the easiness and fluidity of a true leader.  She was able to process the gravity of situations and relay important strategically orders with the precision of a great commander, but then still found time to run around Skyhold playing tricks with Sera and drinking with Bull and his Chargers. She had proven again and again her loyalty to her companions, without ever losing the part of her that was purely Dalish and wild, slipping from everyone’s view for a few hours at a time to be completely alone in the neighboring woods, hunting in solitude like she had done before the Breach.  And all of these contradictory faces; the Herald, the rogue, the elf, the trickster, the confidant, the friend, the follower, the leader; never felt like an act, because all those faces truly were their Inquisitor.

Cassandra admired her versatility, but also envied it.  She wished that she could pull out many faces, putting away her usually stern and serious one for something more light-hearted; to finally not be the punch line to the joke, but in on it. 

But asking the question did help, and Cassandra could hear the answer as if her dear friend was right there beside her, feeding her advice once more.

_Play nice, Cassandra.  You have nothing to lose but everything to gain from doing so.  Do what needs to be done and finish your objective. You can do it._

And that was it, the encouragement the Seeker needed.  Despite how she felt or what obstacles lay in her way, she could finish her objective.

Varric was still busy talking with Dorian.  Cassandra decided to start without him, but as soon as she ripped open the letter, the dwarf was by her side to read it.

They read the message together.

 

A WOMAN AND A DWARF WALK INTO A BAR

AND THE BARTENDER SAYS TO HER, “HEY, WHY THE LONG FACE?”

SHE REPLIES,

“I’M AN ASS WITH AN ARSE AND HE’S AN ARSE WITH AN ASS, AND BY MY PRETTY PUCKERED ASS’ ARSE AND HIS ARSE’S LITTLE ASS, CAN WE GET A DRINK?”

 

Cassandra pulled the note up closer to her eyes; not realizing that by doing so Varric could no longer read it.

The Seeker shook her head.

“It’s nonsense,” she grumbled. How could she possibly be expected to participate when she couldn’t understand the one rule given to her to follow? Frustrated, it reminded her of all those other times Sera changed the rules on her, cackling like a loon when she did.

Varric pulled the note back down so that he could re-read, shaking his head and chuckling as he did.

“Well, she’s no poet, that’s for sure,” he said.

“You can understand this drivel?”

“Not really, but it’s not exactly encoded in Elvhen either.”

“This isn’t a joke, Varric.”

“You don’t hear me laughing.”

“Then try to be a bit more serious.”

“Hey, I want Bianca back just as bad as you want… whatever it is.”

“I don’t think your old crossbow is nearly as important.”  Cassandra immediately regretted saying it.  Not because it wasn’t true, but because her heart stopped as she waited for Varric to ask her what Sera took from her. 

Thankfully, he didn’t. He just raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, Seeker.”

He didn’t seem hurt by what Cassandra said, and she was thankful for that.  Her words did have a tendency to sound a bit harsher than she meant them.

He pointed to the note still in her hand.  “I think it means we’re supposed to pay a visit to the tavern.”

“You _think_ or you _know_?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he shrugged.  “Unless you have any better ideas floating around in that head of yours.”

Cassandra could feel the fake patience she had built up wearing thin already.  She didn’t want to play guessing games. She wanted to finish efficiently.

_Do what needs to be done and finish your objective. You can do it._

“Fine,” she barked. “We go to the tavern.”

Cassandra thrust the letter to Varric and marched out of the garden, leaving the other two teams behind. She could hear the dwarf right on her heels, occasionally sighing to himself as he undoubtedly went over Sera’s clue again. 

It was a short, quiet walk to the tavern.  Cassandra didn’t stop when she reached the door, but instead forced herself right in. She didn’t know what to expect, but the tavern in its normal state was not one of them. 

The bard and most of the frequent patrons had already left, leaving the place oddly calm. The Chargers were the only ones still there, crowded around a table together, still drinking merrily. Cassandra knew how much the Bull could put away, and she guessed his Chargers were no different. They didn’t even bother to look away from their discussion to see who had just burst through the door at the late hour.

Cassandra quickly scanned the area, looking for an envelope or anything else that looked odd or suspicious. Nothing seemed to stand out. Varric was beside her, doing the same thing.

“I don’t see anything,” she said.

“Me neither,” he sighed. “I was expecting something a bit more… chaotic.”

“Are you sure we are in the right place?”

“I don’t know where else the clue would want us to go.”  Varric rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.  “Here, I’ll go talk to Cabot, see if he knows anything.  You can go check Sera’s room, see if there’s anything there.”

Cassandra gave a nod. She walked past the Chargers just as they burst into a fit of drunken laughter, probably over some inside joke or shared story, and made her way up the old wooden steps towards Sera’s room.

There were two soldiers in the corner of the second floor cuddling and whispering between themselves, but they suddenly stopped short when Cassandra appeared.  Cassandra didn’t frequent the tavern, so they were genuinely surprised to see the advisor there.  One tried to jump to his feet, but accidentally bumped the table, spilling their drinks.  Cassandra walked passed, ignoring the man’s embarrassed face as he then tried to wipe up the mess he made.

Cassandra tried to hide her own embarrassment.  True, she didn’t go to the tavern and drink with the soldiers often, or even at all. She knew that the other companions made themselves ready to the masses of the Inquisition; like how Bull would drink with them, or Cole would sit and ease the minds of the wounded, or even how Sera would go out of her way to make sure the “little people” were being treated fairly.  Those people who could see the others in the Inner Circle didn’t seem to notice her compassion, or loyalty, or affinity towards romantic ideals.  What they saw was a hard woman, and how could she blame them.

She knew that she didn’t exactly give off a cheery disposition, and that caused a distance between herself and other people.  Even Lavellan had been calculating with her words and decisions around Cassandra when they had first met.  Part of that distance was voluntary.  Cassandra was guarded, to say the least, but she knew there was more to her than the stern and scarred face that most other people saw.

She knew who she was, and she was never one to shy away from something she believed in. She was herself, even when she wasn’t sure what that meant.  She was Cassandra Pentaghast, strong, driven, unyielding, and sometimes she felt alone because of it.

Sera’s door was locked tight. Cassandra tugged at the doorknob, frustrated.

_Well, so much for that plan._

Luckily, Varric called for her from down below, and Cassandra quickly made her way back down and out of eyesight of the couple.

“What is it?” She said reaching the first floor, an almost-smile on her lips.  “Did you find the next clue?”

“Not exactly,” Varric smirked, a twinkle in his eye.  “But I do think I figured out what we’re supposed to do.”  He turned to the barkeeper.  “Cabot, tell the Seeker what you told me.”

The rough-looking dwarf behind the bar folded his big arms across his chest.  His face looked stern and tired; no doubt he was ready to kick the Chargers out and close-up soon. 

He nodded towards Cassandra and asked, “Why the long face?”

Cassandra was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

The dwarf stood strong, cocking an eyebrow at the woman.  Varric, on the other hand, let out a long laugh.

“Don’t you get it?” Varric grinned at Cassandra’s blank face.  “The clue!”

He held up the clue for Cassandra to read again.

“They’re instructions,” he continued to explain.  “Like a script.”

“Alright,” Cassandra said, hesitantly.  “Now what?”

“Now, you say your line.” Varric pointed to the text on the paper.

Cassandra blinked at the paper, as Varric continued to grin up at her like a fool.

She finally responded, scowling.  “I will do no such thing.”

“You gotta.”

“Why can’t you say it?”

Varric shrugged. “Buttercup was pretty clear when she said we have to follow the clues exactly and the clue says ‘she replies’.”

Cassandra paused, gripping the note tightly.  She breathed. “Fine.”  She turned coolly towards the barkeeper, who hadn’t moved an inch.

Cabot cleared his throat and repeated, “Why the long face?”

She could feel her pride bubbling up in her throat, willing her to not say something so foolish. But she reached her hand into her empty pocket and swallowed hard.

“I’m an… ass with an arse and he’s an arse with an ass, and… by my pretty puckered ass’ arse and his arse’s little ass… can we get a drink?”  She murmured through gritted teeth.

It seemed to do the trick, because Cabot nodded.  “Follow me.” And he went into the back room.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”  Varric asked, smugly.

Cassandra shook her head and followed the bartender.

He led them into a back storage room, lined with barrels of wines and ales.  There were two chairs set up, by some particularly pungent alcohol, facing each other.  Cabot gestured towards them.

“Sit.”

Cassandra and Varric obliged and Cabot left.  It was an uncomfortable space, and sitting so closely to Varric, facing him, sent floods of memories over the Seeker about the last time she had been this close, face-to-face with him, interrogating him.  She didn’t want to look him in the eyes, but avoiding his gaze all together was just as uncomfortable.

“Well, this is cozy,” he joked.

Before Varric could quip another joke to fill the silence, Cabot returned with a large, bucket-sized bottle of a dark black liquid.  The bartender said nothing, simply handed the bottle to Varric and left, locking the door behind him and sealing the two in.

“What in the Maker’s name is this all about?”  Cassandra asked, trying to veil her confusion with a scowl.

Varric turned the large bottle over in his hands.  He gave a slow whistle.

“This is Dwarven stuff,” he said, pulling out the cork on the top.  “I’d call it strong, but that doesn’t really do it justice.”

As soon as the cork was off, a strong aroma came from the bottle.  It reminded Cassandra of earth and compost.  It stung at her eyes.  She brought up a hand to cover her nose.

“Ugh, that’s terrible,” she said, breathing through her mouth, but still able to taste a bit of the sting in the air.

Varric shook his head, catching a whiff.  He was clearly more used to the stuff, but it still made him react.  “Hang on, there’s a note on the bottle.”

He untied a red envelope that was around the neck.  He ripped open the envelope and read the note.

“Well, what kind of word puzzle do we have to solve now?”  Cassandra asked, bringing her hand away from her face, wincing while the smell burned her nostrils.

Varric chuckled. “Nope.  No word puzzle for this one.  This one is very clear.”

Varric held up the note for Cassandra to read.  Two words were printed clearly on the paper:

DRINK UP.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be out of town for a week so I won't be able to add another chapter until after April 12th. Sorry, but hope you enjoy!


	5. Are You a Chicken or a Bull?

The most important thing Bull had learned during his Ben-Hassrath training was to always stay one step ahead of the enemy.  You never wanted them making moves you didn’t already know they were going to make. Staying ahead meant the difference between a successful mission and failure, or sometimes even life and death. Sure, Sera wasn’t exactly his enemy, but as she smugly vanished into her smoke bomb atop the gazebo, she might as well have been.

Bull inhaled sharply through his nose.  He was all in for fun and games.  Heck, he was usually the one to instigate playful and teasing banter with anyone, looking for any question or topic to make his long trips on Inquisition errands a bit more enjoyable. But Bull did not like being manipulated.

“I guess the Great Game has started,” Varric said.  “Good luck, everyone.  I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”

Cole turned his large, glassy eyes towards him.  “The Iron Bull,” he said, a ghostly smile dancing on his lips, “I am excited to be your partner for Sera’s game.  We are going to have fun playing together.”

“It’ll be… interesting,” Iron Bull sighed, roughly.  Fun was not the word he would have used to describe what he anticipated.

“You are not excited.” Cole’s eyes were asking the question his statement did not.

_Why?_

Bull cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure he could really explain it to the spirit.  Cole had a difficult time as it was grasping emotions and Bull knew trying to explain why he felt frustrated could trigger a branching effect of more questions and more questions.

“I’m just surprised, is all.” Bull decided that was probably the easiest way to explain.  “I don’t like surprises.”

Cole seemed to understand. He nodded, the large brim of his hat flopping up and down.

Bull didn’t want to play. He didn’t like being manipulated, and he sure didn’t like being blackmailed into it. 

He had a good feeling he knew exactly what Sera took from him.  He had noticed its disappearance that same morning, and was sure that Dorian had finally found it and was going to question him about it. He had partly prepared himself for that discussion and thinking about it caused tension in his chest. The object had no real value, but he was sure Sera took it because of what it represented, and those haunting words came floating back to his mind.

_You’re a good man._

Bull pushed it from his mind as quickly as it had come.  Now was not the time.  Even though he was frustrated, at least he could give a sigh of relief knowing Dorian wasn’t the one who had it.

Bull carefully ripped open the envelope with his strong hands.  He held the tiny note out to read:

 

LET’S SEE IF THAT SPY TRAINING HAS PAID OFF.

COLLECT YOUR NEXT CLUE FAR BELOW, UNDER KEEP

TIME TO ASK YOURSELF:

ARE YOU A CHICKEN OR ARE YOU A BULL?

 

Bull began to analyze it, quickly picking up as many clues as he could. 

_“Spy training”.  Asking him if he understands the clue? Using his Ben-Hassrath training to interpret correctly. No, not that simple. Something pertaining to the next clue itself. “Far below, under keep”. Location.  Where he had to go next.  “Chicken or Bull”?  Eliciting some emotional response.  Perhaps predicting his apprehension.  Seemed likely._

Bull could hear Cassandra’s and Varric’s murmuring growing more and more agitated as they discussed their clue.  Even though Bull didn’t look up from his own note, he could see Dorian watching him from his peripheral. Even though Bull was frustrated with Sera, at least he could give a sigh of relief knowing that she was the one that took _it_ , and not Dorian.  

The mage was watching him longingly, a crease forming between those beautiful brows. Bull concealed a smile. He loved the way Dorian looked at him when he thought no one could see.  Dorian was so guarded, even when handling such trivial things like glances. Bull would much rather have Dorian in his bed right now, out of the darkness and in the light of the fire, easing him out from behind those guarded walls and spending the night how they spent each night…

“I don’t know his… does he know mine?  Should I tell him? Or will that just make things complicated?  It is mine and it is also me.  Can it be mine and he be mine?” Cole’s voice came out low and haunting, sending a shiver down Bull’s back once he realized what the spirit was saying.

“Don’t,” Bull snapped, jerking his head towards Cole.  When he saw Cole recoil, the Qunari softened a little.  “I’m sorry, I mean, just no mind-reading crap tonight, kid. Tonight’s already been weird enough.”

“But The Iron Bull,” Cole asked, voice uncertain, “what about Dorian?”  Cole turned his ghostly eyes towards the Tevinter, who was now discussing quietly with Blackwall.

Bull shrugged, smiling a little.  As unhappy as he was, he did have to give Sera props for knowing just how to get under everyone’s skin. The girl was far from eloquent and could out-belch any soldier, but she was damn clever.  He knew that she had to have carefully orchestrated this entire night, down to the basic details.  It wasn’t a coincidence that Dorian was partnered with Blackwall.  Those two had nothing in common, except for the one thing that kept them both in Skyhold; their love for the Boss.  Bull didn’t even have to explain why Varric and Cassandra had been paired together.  He was sure Cole’s joining had foiled some angle Sera had for Bull working alone and it was a bit unnerving not knowing what that angle had been.

Yes, Sera was good at reading people, much like Bull was.  He knew she had a lot planned for tonight, which was probably why Bull had so much apprehension.

“Sera knows what she’s doing,” Bull finally answered.  “She wants to see them struggle, but I know Dorian.  He’s clever enough to solve his clues quickly and cheeky enough to deal with Blackwall. He’ll be fine.” Bull gave a toothy grin, watching Dorian again from his periph.  He was twisting his moustache absent-mindedly, deep in thought.

“That is not what I meant.” Cole said, solemnly.

Bull wasn’t sure exactly what Cole meant, but he was sure it had something to do with the nonsense he had been babbling about “it is me” and “he is mine”.  Bull didn’t want to know what that had meant. He had talked with Cole enough times to understand that prodding and asking questions only led to opening up wounds that he didn’t want to deal with.

_You’re a good man._

The thought sent a knee-jerk reaction through him.  Bull’s fist tightly clenched around his note as his whole body tensed. Cole blinked up at him, unflinching.

“How ‘bout we focus on getting our next clue?”  Bull said, the note still in his tight fist.  He didn’t have to read it again to remember where they had to go.

“Okay.” Cole smiled.

Iron Bull pushed out towards the Keep. Bull knew exactly where the closest stairs were to take them to the corridors that lay below. Varric and Cassandra had already disappeared and the Qunari shook his head when he pictured what kind of mischief Sera had in store for them.  Bull paused a couple of times on his way, just to make sure Cole was still following. The spirit was always so quiet; it was hard to tell if he was even still there.  But whenever Bull turned around, just to check, Cole was always right on his heels, like a shadow, a curious expression on his gaunt face.

Under the Keep was always creepy and empty, even during the busiest days.  The dungeon was down there, as well as a secret cellar that Josephine used to store fine wines and ales that she would faint to know were sometimes smuggled to the tavern after special victories.  The note hadn’t specified where exactly the next clue was, so Bull began to scour the labyrinth like tunnels, hoping he’d be able to find it quickly and finish Sera’s charade with ease.

He hated it down there. He was large, and the stone hallways felt suffocating around his huge frame.  Plus, he had to stoop slightly as he walked, careful that his horns didn’t scrap the stones above.  After a while, the muscles in his neck got sore.

“The Iron Bull, can I ask you a question?”  Cole’s voice came quietly from behind, echoing slightly off of the stony, cold walls.

“Depends,” Bull grunted. “You can ask, but I may not want to answer it.  No offense.”

Cole seemed to think about that, before continuing.  “What is your favorite kind of game to play?”

A grin curled across Bull’s face. “Why do you ask?”

Bull stopped in front of a wooden door.  He turned the doorknob and poked his large, horned-head in, scanning it with his one good eye.

Nothing but books and old tomes.  No clue here.

They continued.

“Well,” Cole explained. “You said that you were not excited for Sera’s game.  So, what kind of games are you excited to play?”

“I like all kinds of games, kid.  Especially the ones that involve drinking,” Bull chuckled.  “When I was young, I used to like physical games, you know, like throwing stones or wrestling.  I was always bigger and stronger than the other Qunari children, so I usually won. I think that’s why I liked them.”

“And now?”

“Oh, I still like winning.” Bull gave a wicked smile, even though Cole couldn’t see it from behind.  “But now I also like thinking games, like those card games you’ve seen me play with the boys.  I usually win and it’s always good practice, having to read people, think like them, play ahead of them. It keeps me sharp.”

Cole nodded thoughtfully. They approached another door, but when Bull tugged on the door handle it was locked.  They moved on.

“Is that why you like Dorian?” Cole asked.  “He’s like a thinking game?”

Bull blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The way you feel when you talk with Dorian, it’s the same way that Cullen feels when he plays that board game with Dorian.  Thinking, planning… cautious, calculating… defensive and offensive, what and why. Dorian is like a thinking game to you.”

Bull wasn’t sure how to respond.  He knew what Cole was saying wasn’t true.  Dorian wasn’t a game. The flirting had started as such, the toying and teasing driven by curiosity and desire.  But it wasn’t that anymore.  It was… something else.

But there was still some truth to the spirit’s nonsense.  Bull loved the combative relationship he had with the ‘vint.  He could always count on some witty remark to make him laugh, some pull-away to counter his advances, some defiance when he lustfully demanded obedience, some guarded wall that he couldn’t quite break down…

Bull sighed. “Sometimes.”

They rounded a corner they had not yet tried, and Bull suddenly stopped short, causing Cole to run into his large, bare back.

“What is it?” He asked, trying to peep his head around the large wall of Qunari muscle.

“I found our next clue.”

The hallway floor, which Bull and Cole stood at the mouth of, was filled with glasses of water. Everywhere, covering every inch of the floor, stacked neatly and orderly and leaving almost no foot room between, hundreds of full water cups glistened in the dim torchlight. If any of the cups were knocked over, it would create a domino effect, knocking all of them, spilling all of the contents and creating a huge mess.  Zigzagging across it, strung in precarious taught lines and loops, were wires. At the very end of the long hallway, through the intense obstacle course of trip wires and cups, propped up by an antique statue, was a red envelope.

“Vashedan,” Bull grumbled, gritting his teeth.

_Damn you, Sera._

“Look.” Cole pointed at a slip of paper that had been pinned between the stones by an arrow.  Across it, in large letters, was scribbled:

 

NO SPIRIT FUNNY BUSINESS OR ELSE

 

Asking Cole to just appear on the other side and grab the envelope wasn’t an option.

“I guess that means I have to do that heavy lifting.”  Bull chuckled dryly, turning back towards the ridiculous set-up.

He thought about Sera’s first clue, connecting the words with what he saw in front of him.

_So this is what Sera thinks my “spy training” has enabled me to do? Being able to navigate her hallway without triggering her traps._

The thought made a smile snag at the corner of his scarred lips.  If he hadn’t already been in a mood he might have found it funny.

“How can I help?” Cole asked, earnestly.

“I don’t think you can,” Bull said.  “You wait here. I’ll go get the envelope.”

Cole nodded, his face stern as if he was nervous for the Qunari.

Bull assessed the hallway, making sure to study where the wires were and planning a path to place his feet without spilling the cups.  It would be difficult, but he was sure he could do it.

Bull took a deep breath and then placed his left foot in the closest small opening between the cups. He slowly leaned forward and placed his next foot at an almost awkward- but safe- distance, easing himself into the obstacle course.  He slowly inched forward, carefully lifting and placing each step.  He ducked easily under the first string, then the second.

The task would have been impossible for anyone else his size, but Bull was surprisingly agile – something Dorian “complained” about often when they were together – and was able to slide through gracefully. 

He glanced back at Cole, who had his mouth open, watching intently through his curtain of fair hair. With each string he approached, Bull made sure to double check that his horns were clear before he proceeded. At one point, as he lifted his foot, the tip of his boot hit the lip of a glass, sending it rattling back and forth as it attempted to find balance. 

Bull froze. When the cup finally stopped rocking, he shot another glance over his shoulder at Cole, who was now watching through his fingers.

Bull was so close. He could see the envelope upon the statue, just a couple of yards away.  Over the cups, under the wires, Bull slowly made his way closer, closer, until the envelope was just out of reach…

He carefully placed his right foot in the space closest to the envelope and reached his large fingers out, his calloused tips grazing the edge of the paper and slowly wrapped around it.

_Got it!_

He pulled the envelope, and with it, the string that had been secretly attached to its backside. Bull realized what had happened, but it was too late.  The string broke and from somewhere in the shadowy place above his head, a bucket full of dark sticky liquid fell down, dousing the Qunari.  He jerked back, knocking over the cups around his feet, and sending a tidal wave of reaction down the hall.  A roaring sound of metal striking stone bounced off the walls as cup after cup, spilling over and knocking the next, flooded the entire hallway.

“The Iron Bull!” Cole shouted from the hall mouth, jumping back away from the oncoming mess. 

The dark liquid that had poured all over the Qunari seeped down over his one eye and into his nose and mouth. He tried to wipe it away as he took another full step, breaking a wire with his horns, and sending off another trap, filling the hallway with a snow storm of fluffy white feathers.

The last of the cups clattered to the floor, leaving a deafening silence.  Even though Cole had backed away, he was standing ankle deep in water, starring at what had once been his fearsome friend, The Iron Bull.

The feathers had stuck to the black goo, leaving Bull plastered from head to toe in fluffy white.

“The Iron Bull?”

Bull coughed up the few feathers that had fallen into his mouth.  He tried to wipe the gunk from his arms and face, but it was useless. He was _covered_.

He could feel the heat rising in his chest as his brows narrowed, taking in the hundreds of spilled cups and thousands of feathers floating in the hallway’s new pond.

“The Iron Bull, you do not look like yourself,” Cole said, unable to hide the amazement in his voice. “Do you remember Sera’s clue? How she asked if you were a bull or a chicken?  I think Sera has just played a joke on you.”

Bull didn’t like this from the beginning and now he liked it even less.  He had been manipulated.  Sera always knew that the trap would go off.  There was no way for Bull to have avoided it. Once again, Sera had been one step ahead.

He was done.

Bull looked fiercely down at the clue in his hand, and in one solid motion, ripped it up.

“The Iron Bull, why did you do that?  How will we go to our next clue?”  Cole asked.

No more games. No more manipulation. Bull was about to beat Sera once and for all.  He was going to be the one who was one step ahead.

“Sorry, kid,” he growled. “No more clues. The game is over. We’re finding what Sera took and taking it back.”


	6. We All Have Our Weaknesses

It had taken a few minutes of silent following for Blackwall to be able to pretend he and Dorian hadn’t just snuck into the Ambassador’s room.  The incident had left him so flustered that he hadn’t felt the need to ask Dorian where exactly they were going.  Dorian walked determinedly down the hallways and down a flight of cobblestone steps, and Blackwall had followed him without question. If the mage said he knew where to go, Blackwall believed him.  Besides, he had other things pressing on his mind.

It wasn’t so much that he had snuck into Lady Montilyet’s room – even though Blackwall did know it was wrong – he was more embarrassed about Sera using it to affect him. It was as if all of Skyhold knew of his affections for Josephine and it was mortifying to think about what people thought, or worse, what they said.

He knew Jospehine knew of his feelings, and he believed that she actually returned them. When he had brought her flowers, she had smiled in such a way that Blackwall decided that he would have to get them for her often, just to see that smile again.

She was a woman like none other Blackwall had known.  She was smart, kind, sincere, beautiful, – Maker was she beautiful! – but all of these wonderful qualities were just reminders of what stood between them. She was an Ambassador of the Inquisition, a Montilyet, a woman of status, and he wasn’t.  Even if he had really been a Grey Warden, really been Blackwall and not Thom Reinier, it wouldn’t be enough.  She was a good woman who would be with a good man of her status, and he understood that.  But understanding could not stop him from wanting to talk to her about the weather, exchanging small favours, bringing her flowers again to see her smile.  There would never be, _could_ never be, anything more.  No confessions, no kisses, and certainly no visiting her room, apart from the secret break-in with Dorian.

And Sera knew that. Sera knew that Blackwall cared for Josephine, and that nothing could come of it. So, why did she feel the need to rub his face in it?

He knew Sera. Sera had been one of the first people that Blackwall had actually considered a friend.  They had shared drinks, laughs, and even a vulgar story or two. He admired her, for all of the opposite reasons he cared for Josephine. Sera was crude and unyielding. And he wished he could say that he hadn’t expected her to force him to stray so far from his comfort zone and that through their friendship she might have placed some boundaries that weren’t worth crossing.

But Sera’s boundaries never seemed to correlate with anyone else’s.

He supposed the whole thing could have gone a lot worse.  Despite the ‘vint’s constant need to mock and poke at him, at least Dorian had been respectful in understanding Blackwall’s hesitation during what transpired. It was moments like that that reminded Blackwall that Dorian was a good man under all of that bluster; a good man worthy of serving an Inquisition with.

Blackwall cleared his throat. “Dorian, I did not thank you for… taking care of matters back there.  And, for the most part, being respectful of my… hesitation.”

“Ha, let’s not get carried away,” the mage tittered over his bare shoulder.  “I did, after all, search through the undergarments of a very well known and respected Ambassador.  I’m sure her brothers will have me hanged if they ever found out.”

Blackwall gave a grunt. His cheeks under his whiskers turned pink, remembering closing his eyes to the sound of drawers opening, and what he had imagined they looked like.  He was ashamed, but still a man, and it would be a lie if he didn’t admit to himself that he was dreadfully curious about what Dorian saw.

Dorian and Blackwall reached the Great Hall, which had lost the hum and color it usually carried during the day.  The few candles that hadn’t been blown out were barely flickering at the bottom of their waxy nubs. The tables that lined the walls were still filled with half eaten food and forgotten cups of ale. A few soldiers were snoring softly, their heads pushed against their empty plates or thrown back against the stony walls.  The whole scene was unnervingly still.

Even though Blackwall brought it up, the words ‘thank you’ never actually left his mouth. He wouldn’t say them, but he hoped Dorian would realize they were still there.

“I am sorry that I am not a very fit teammate for you,” he said instead.

“Are you apologizing for your inability to solve puzzles or to carry them out when honor is on the line?”

“Both, I suppose,” he sighed.

“Yes, well… don’t be,” Dorian said, dropping his voice to a more sincere tone and facing Blackwall. “We all have our weaknesses. I’m sure Sera has dredged up some dark seed of insecurity for me to face. I can’t say I look forward to it. When that time does come, I expect you to take the reins.”

Blackwall opened his mouth to say something, but a door opened from behind them and a large white figure stepped out into the Great Hall.

“Bull?” Dorian gaped, staring at the huge Qunari covered in feathers.  “What in the Void happened to you?”

Bull’s feet squished as he stepped his way towards them, shaking his great feathery horns and scowling.

“Sera happened.” He growled.

Dorian and Blackwall glanced at each other.  The mage bit at his lip, obviously trying to stifle a laugh.  The usually terrifying Iron Bull looked utterly ridiculous. It was hard to imagine how he could have ended up like this.

Cole followed behind him, stepping around Bull’s greasy black footprints, mumbling to Blackwall and Dorian. “Carefully creeping… still, slinking steps… over and under, over and under, and then the storm… snowing down and everywhere… I’m done, she’s done… we’re done.”

Cole looked untouched, except that his feet were soaked.  He stepped next to Bull, smiling up at him fondly.

“Uh, thanks for the commentary, kid.”  Bull sighed, bits of white fluff falling from his frame with every movement.

“I do have to say,” Dorian smirked, cocking an eyebrow, “you have never looked better, Bull.”

“Is that so?” Bull smiled, suddenly easing the tension in his hunched shoulders and spreading his arms as if to welcome Dorian into a hug.  “Well, if you like the look so much I can always share some with you.”

“No, no,” Dorian said, backing away slightly.  “I don’t think I could do it justice.”

Bull let out a low rumble of laughter, as he tried to shake more feathers from his arms to no avail. Dorian and Bull shared a smile, sweet and teasing and completely fond of each other.

“Sera has made The Iron Bull into a chicken,” Cole explained, breaking Bull and Dorian’s moment.

“Indeed she has,” Blackwall smiled, letting a low chuckle slip from his lips now that Bull didn’t look ready to bust down a wall anymore.

“Go ahead and laugh,” Bull said. “I’ll be the one laughing last when you’re still playing into Sera’s hands and I’m back in my room, done with her game and fast asleep.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Blackwall asked, tilting his head.

“He’s going to find the objects that Sera has taken.”  Cole quipped, bouncing in the puddle that had formed around his soaked feet.

“You’re going to cheat?” Blackwall asked. Dorian pursed his lips quizzically, turning to Bull for an explanation.

“It’s not cheating when you aren’t even playing.”

“So, you’re just going to take back your stuff?  Just like that?”

“I have a feeling that Sera is out and about, making sure the rest of her clues are set-up,” Bull explained. “She probably has our things hidden in her room.  I’m going to go find them and get mine before she can figure out what I’m up to.”

Blackwall glanced at Dorian eagerly, but the mage had a hard furrow between his brows and he was biting at his lips.  Blackwall did have to admit that Bull’s plan sounded convoluted, to say the least, but if there was still a chance that it could work…

“Not that I think going against Sera’s will is a good idea,” he said, “but if you do happen to be successful in locating our things, I would appreciate it if you acquired mine as well.”

“Will do.” Bull nodded.  “What am I looking for?”

“A ring.”

“Got it.”

Blackwall was thankful that Bull never needed a bigger explanation for things.  He respected the mercenary for that.

There was a pause, as Iron Bull turned to slowly look at Dorian.  Dorian had his eyes glued to the ground and he shifted his feet under the Qunari’s gaze.  Bull’s shoulders tensed again as he uneasily looked away, tilting his head towards Cole.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s get this over with.” Bull stalked off towards the front door.

Cole, his glassy eyes darting between Bull and Dorian, skipped after the former. They could hear him ask Bull a question and Bull mumbled a response, before the team left the Great Hall.

There was a slight awkward pause while Blackwall looked after where Iron Bull and walked out, interpreting what had just happened.

“What was that about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Dorian said, returning back to his usual tone of levity. “Apparently, dressing someone like a great bird is worthy of humor.  I learn more and more about the culture of you Southerners everyday, and yet I’m still always surprised.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Dorian frowned. “I don’t believe I do. If you continue to speak in incomplete assumptions, like a barbarian, I might never know what you mean.”

“You don’t want Iron Bull to know what Sera took from you.”

Dorian’s eyes flickered. He seemed taken aback by Blackwall’s comment for a second, but then quickly regained his usual haughty demeanor.

“And why should he?” He huffed, folding his arms.

“I just figured he would already know, since…”

“Bull and I have… an understanding, but that doesn’t mean I divulge all of my personal affairs to him.” The words seemed hard for Dorian to grasp, as if he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.  Blackwall had never really seen words be difficult for Dorian before.

“Why not just tell Bull what your object was in case he found them?  Why purposefully not tell him, then?”  Blackwall asked.

“Well, aren’t you all curious and full of questions.”

“I’m just trying to understand.  You said earlier that we could take her and avoid the whole thing.  Why you don’t want to take short cuts now seems strange.”

It was true. And Dorian was _acting_ strange.  Blackwall had seen Dorian broken down into an honest man before, when his father paid him a visit.  The usual arrogant dramatics had been stripped away and Dorian had shown his more vulnerable side, the real him that was pained and withdrawn.  Of all the masks that Dorian wore, Blackwall had understood the real man the most.

But Dorian was determined to not let him out, and continued in his proud manner.  “I think Bull’s underestimating Sera’s control over tonight, which is unusual,” he explained.  “Bull is never one to underestimate people.  Something is clouding is judgment.”

Blackwall nodded. Bull had been acting unusually aggressive about finding Sera.  Blackwall didn’t need to be a spy to see how tense he had been.  The Qunari was one of the few in the Inner Circle who could appreciate a good laugh, yet something had made him irritable. Blackwall suspected Dorian might have an idea as to what it was, but the mage didn’t seem to be in a sharing mood.

“What’s so special about your ring?”  Dorian asked, suddenly.

“What?”

“You told Bull to look for your ring.  What kind of ring? Was it a Grey Warden token?”

“No.” Blackwall said, flatly.

“Is it very valuable?”

“No,” he sighed. “It’s… a long story.”

“So, the one with all the questions doesn’t feel like answering any of mine?  How convenient.”  Dorian poked.  “Fine. How about I don’t pry into your personal affairs and you stay far from mine, especially those concerning my relations with Bull.”

“Fine.”

“Excellent. Oh, aren’t we just having so much fun.” Dorian chided, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. He motioned for Blackwall to follow him again, and he led the way towards the Undercroft.

It was unnaturally cold, and Dorian whimpered as they entered.  The mouth of the cave across gaped wide, allowing the stars and moon the cast a ghostly light.  Blackwall had been there a couple of times to meet the Inquisitor as she had him fitted for new armor or handed him a new sword that Dagna had helped enhance with whatever it was that the dwarf did.  Blackwall had never liked the Undercroft.  The large cave mouth made him feel like he was falling off the edge of the world and he preferred the warm, dry air of the stables.

He and Dorian both jumped when a sudden snore broke from the corner.  Harritt was fast asleep, propped in a chair, half a bottle of ale still clutched in his hand.  With Corypheus dead and rifts closing, the demands for weapons and armor had gone way down and Harritt had spent much of his free time celebrating with the rest of Skyhold. Why he was currently asleep in the Undercroft, Blackwall didn’t know, but Dorian and him shared a nod as if to agree not to wake him.

Dorian pulled the key from his pocket, waved it, and walked to the large chest near the entrance.

“The Inquisitor’s chest?” Blackwall asked, whispering only loud enough for Dorian to hear.

Dorian placed the key into the lock.  “I’m not sure how Sera was able to get access to it, but you know the rule about Sera; it’s always better,” Dorian turned it and the lock clicked open, “to never ask.”

The mage smirked, his moustache curling at the edges.  He slowly lifted the lid.  The chest was full of items and clothing, but right on top, was a red envelope.

Dorian snatched it up, ripped it open, and then held it so Blackwall could read it over his shoulder.

 

YOU WORE THE SUITS AND WENT TO THE BALL

SO YOU BOTH KNOW HOW TO DRESS

YOU’LL NEVER FIND YOUR NEXT CLUE THOUGH

UNLESS YOU’RE BOTH DRESSED YOUR BEST

 

PUT ON THE CLOTHES, DON’T WASTE YOUR TIME

IT’S LOCATED BY BLACKWALL’S BED

GET IT, READ IT, AND PERFORM THE DEED

EXACTLY AS IT HAS SAID

 

Dorian handed Blackwall the note as he began to search through the contents of the chest. Blackwall stroked his beard as he contemplated the rhyme.

“She’s talking about the Winter Palace, isn’t she?” he grumbled.

The Inquisitor had taken him, Dorian, and Iron Bull with her to stop Empress Celene’s assassination. They had been successful, but Blackwall had not enjoyed it.  Those kinds of stuffy gatherings never appealed to him.  He didn’t care for people that stood around, feeding off of the sacrifice of others and chiding over scandalous rumors when men and women died to protect them.  He did not believe the Grey Wardens sacrificed themselves for grand balls.

But the Inquisitor had asked him to go, so he did.

But as Dorian pulled out articles of clothing, none of them resembled the fine, red suits and sashes they had donned in Halamshiral.

“Yes, she is,” Dorian finally answered, pursing his lips.  “But we are not going to be wearing the outfits we wore there.”

Dorian handed Blackwall yellow fabric, so much yellow fabric that most of it spilled from Blackwall’s arms and cascaded to the floor in a waterfall of ruffles. Dorian pulled out some periwinkle fabric, holding it to his slight, muscular frame, shaking his head.

“What it it?” Blackwall asked, trying to determine any form of shape in the yellow monstrosity that Dorian handed to him.

When he glanced back at Dorian, the mage had the periwinkle fabric draped around his hips, over his clothes, like a…

“Maker’s breath!” Blackwall grunted, throwing the yellow skirt to the ground. “She’s making us wear dresses?”

“Sera does have an interesting sense of humor, doesn’t she?”  Dorian said, wrapping a sash around his waist.  “It even appears that she went out of her way to find the ugliest gowns she could possibly find.”

Blackwall buried his face in his hands.  Maybe Iron Bull did have the right idea, ending this foolishness and going right to the source. He suddenly wished that he had gone with the Qunari, offered his help, even if a small part of him was positive that Bull would fail and pay for not playing by the rules.

When Blackwall finally looked up from his hands, Dorian had finished putting his outfit on over his clothes.  The mage looked utterly ridiculous, but Dorian still couldn’t help a smirk.

“If this is Sera’s attempt at surfacing my deep-seeded insecurities, she’ll have to try harder,” he said, eyes twinkling.  “Even in this gaudy thing I look divine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: No offense meant by the cross dressing. I personally think anyone who wants to wear a dress totally can and should, I also just think Sera would get a kick out of watching Dorian and Blackwall doing it :)


	7. Someone Has To

“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra scowled, taking another sip.

Varric shook his head, his lips tinged with a smile.  He had watched as the Seeker pulled on the locked door for a few minutes, knocked loudly and ordered someone to open it, and searched for some other way out, all to no avail.  She eventually sat back down in a huff, but not before pulling her chair away, as to not sit so close to the dwarf.

They sat in silence for a while, Varric drinking from the large bottle and passing it to Cassandra occasionally.  She had taken a few drags, and with each sip contorted her face in pain as the horrid liquid made its way down her throat.  It had burned on the way down for Varric, so he couldn’t imagine the pain Cassandra was enduring as she passed the bottle back to him.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Varric asked, pulling the lip of the bottle to his mouth and stifling shivers as he gulped it down. With as much as they had drank so far, it was disheartening to look at the bottle and see that they weren’t anywhere close to finishing.  “On the scale of terrible things we have endured, I should think drinking with me is hardly the worst,” he coaxed.

Cassandra wasn’t having it. She rolled her eyes.

Varric would never describe this as his idea of a good time, but at least he wasn’t as miserable as Cassandra appeared to be.  Then again, he often drew enjoyment from her discomfort; there was something satisfyingly ironic about the woman who had captured and interrogated him being forced against her will to endure his company.

Unable to resist, Varric continued.  “If it makes you feel any better, you are hardly my first choice for drinking buddy either.”

Varric fondly thought back to those many times he had spent in taverns, in the Hanged Man, drinking and telling stories, taking money from his friends, getting into bloody scuffles with other patrons.  He had been a much younger dwarf then.  Sometimes he felt like things had changed a lot for him, and other times he was reminded that they hadn’t really changed at all.  Sure the people and faces were different, and the setting was damn better, but really he was the same dwarf surrounded by a group of assholes he just couldn’t help but like.  He even enjoyed the Seeker’s company… occasionally, though he would never give her the satisfaction of admitting it.

Cassandra tapped her foot restlessly.  “What is the point of this?  I don’t see how this is beneficial for anyone.  Sera claimed she is helping, but I fail to see how this,” she waved her arms to gesture at the small, storage space, “ is helpful?”

“Beats me,” Varric shrugged. “And I don’t think questioning it is gonna give you your answers.  Buttercup’s got us roped in good, I say we just go along for the ride and see what happens.”

Varric smiled to himself. He had been along for the ride for a while now, and not just for Sera’s game.  He had never expected to be where he was now, Seeker and jar of dragon-piss aside.  It was hard to believe that not that long ago, the sky had ripped open and everything had gone to shit. Between his adventures with Hawke and now Lavellan, there never seemed to be a dull moment for Varric, and he liked it like that.

Maybe it was just the storyteller in him- he couldn’t just turn away from something spectacular- but he had a deep appreciation for what his life had been, scary bits and all, and even deeper fascination for what was to come.

He took another large gulp and strained against a cough.  His throat was tingling and he could feel the liquid slowly slide all the way down into his gut.

She scoffed. “Of course you would say that. The carefree storyteller, master of wit and lies, takes the back seat.  What a surprise.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to insult me, Seeker.”

“Just making observations. That is what you do, take the back seat. I have never known you to be a stand-up man, Varric.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Cassandra sighed, shaking her head.  “Just… forget it.”

“No, please. You’ve perked my interest.” Varric leaned in, elbows on his knees.

Cassandra said nothing, she kept her eyes glued to the ground.  Varric could tell that the words were simmering on her tongue, but she didn’t dare let them out.

Varric continued, an edge to his voice.  “I guess you have forgotten about the part where I stayed and fought along side the Inquisition when the Blighted sky was ripped open, even though we were all doomed. That doesn’t sound like something a person on the sidelines would do.”

“You would have had nowhere to run to if the world ended,” she snapped.

“That’s not fair. Who’s the master of lies, now? You’re twisting my actions away from my intentions to prove a point,” Varric growled.  “Just because I’ve told you a few stories doesn’t mean you know _me_.”

He had set the large jug on the floor a while ago, completely focusing on the seething woman in front of him.  Even though he could feel the tension rising in his chest, Varric tried to keep his face calm. He couldn’t let Cassandra see him growing frustrated, not when she was so obviously angry.

Unable to contain her exasperation anymore, she jumped to her feet, bearing down on the dwarf. “We needed him and you lied!” She yelled.

“Ugh, this again…” Varric rolled his head, biting at his tongue.

_The Hawke thing; it always comes back to the Hawke thing._

“The world was falling apart and you lied like a coward!”  Her eyes burned.  She was still angry about it. She would probably always be angry about it.

“I was protecting my friend.” His voice was rising to match hers. He was sure the stragglers in the tavern could hear everything that was happening now.

“You did nothing,” she spat. “There was no Hero of Fereldan and no Champion.  We needed someone and you did nothing.  And the Inquisitor picked-up the pieces.  She didn’t want to, but she did.  She had to. Just like I didn’t want to deal with any of this either, but I did anyways.  I _had_ to.”

“Like I said before, you don’t know me,” he snarled, standing now to look up into her eyes. “So save your lectures for a dwarf that cares.  I’m just trying to survive tonight.”

She turned her back, unable to hold his gaze.  “Because that’s what you do.  You do nothing and survive. Let someone else stand-up, let someone else take the fall.  The world is filled with people like you, Varric.  Ones who let the others ‘do’, while you just survive.  And I can’t always be the person to take action when you won’t.”

What in the Void was she talking about?  Cassandra was yelling at him, shaking in frustration, but somehow Varric got the feeling that this wasn’t _just_ about him. “Nobody’s asking you to. Maybe that’s your problem, Seeker. Maybe you need to just loosen up a little, let your hair down.  Maybe if you had a little fun people would like you more.”

As soon as Varric said the words, he regretted them.  He watched as Cassandra heard them, her frame shriveling a little. He hadn’t meant for them to be so harsh. He just got caught up in the heat of it all…

Cassandra suddenly turned on him, voice hard.  “Someone has to be the one to do something.”

Varric sighed. “But it doesn’t have to be you.”

“Who then?” She asked, eyes wide. She closed what little distance was between her and the dwarf, bearing down on him.  “Will you?  Of course not. Because you are a survivor, right? What good is a storyteller if he doesn’t live long enough to spread his lies.”

Varric set his jaw, not sure what to say.  He could think of a million responses, but none of them were right.  He just starred up at Cassandra, waiting for her next move.

She breathed down on him. “You won’t stand up?  Fine. I will.  Because someone has to.”

She moved over to Varric’s chair and picked up the mostly full jug beside it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Varric sighed, watching her move towards one of the storage barrels.

“I’m taking action,” she said, opening one of the barrels and pouring the contents of the jug in. “I’m not drinking another drop of the swill.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Varric said, watching as the last of the dark liquid spilled into the barrel.

She didn’t look at him as she took the empty bottle to the door.  “Neither is staying another moment locked in this room with you.”

“You wound me.” He said with a dry laugh.

She banged her fist loudly on the door, almost rattling it on its hinges.  “We have finished!  Open up!” She fiercely knocked again.

After a few moments, Cabot popped his head into the room.  He looked at Cassandra, then the empty bottle, then at Varric. He snorted and closed the door, only to return moments later with an even bigger bottle, filled to the brim with the same ale Cassandra had just dumped.

“What is this?” Cassandra asked, eyes wide in shock.

Cabot said nothing, just handed her the new jar and gave Varric a new envelope.  The bartender left, locking the door behind him.

Cassandra didn’t move. Varric was pretty sure she wasn’t even breathing.  She just starred at the very full jug in her hands.

Varric ripped open the letter and read it with a sigh.

 

NICE TRY.

START OVER.

 

Varric turned, and sat back in his seat.  Sera wasn’t kidding when she established her rules, and now Cassandra and him were going to have to pay for it.  He was determined to survive the night, even if that meant dealing with the Seeker and helping her to learn to survive, too. 

She was going to make it difficult, but maybe Sera had the right idea about forcing her to drink. Drinking had a way of making Varric’s problems seem smaller, and he almost wanted to rip the bottle from her hands and down it himself in an attempt to forget about that horrible conversation… _almost._ He could still feel the burn from the last bottle, and now they got to start all over.

He patted the chair next to him, beckoning the still shocked Cassandra to join him.

“If this is the kind of thing that happens to ‘stand-up’ people,” he smirked, “I think I’ll just stick with surviving, thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short-ish chapter, but I had some off time today for writing, so enjoy.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! Your input and speculations are making this so much fun to write :)


	8. Making the Wrongs Right

Cole followed closely as The Iron Bull stormed his way through the Keep.  He couldn’t help but be disappointed that the game was already over.  He was looking forward to playing and helping, but The Iron Bull seemed very set in not continuing.

Cole liked the way the Qunari’s feet sounded on the cold stones, the gentle “squish squish” as his boots tread, leaving soggy, black prints.  It reminded Cole of the footprints the Inquisitor made on the beaches of the Storm Coast; he liked the way the tide had erased them, flooding with foam… pulling back to reveal only stones and sand.  He had followed those footprints, like he was following these.

Cole could hear The Iron Bull’s mind at work.  His thoughts were loud, much louder than they usually were.  Cole didn’t want to comment on them, because he knew that The Iron Bull might not like it, he never liked it when Cole could hear what he wasn’t saying. Instead, he listened contently as the words played over and over again.

_You’re a good man._

_You’re a good man._

When they reached the Great Hall, The Iron Bull’s steps faltered slightly.  Cole looked around his large figure to see Dorian and Blackwall standing there, staring back.  He could hear them laughing on the inside, hear their amazement and confusion and awe as they saw The Iron Bull covered in muck and feathers.  It made him want to laugh, too.

The Iron Bull was tense as he approached them, but that melted quickly when he was near Dorian. It always melted around Dorian, like the footsteps in the tide.  Cole liked the way that happened.

He watched the men talk, and contributed to the jokes, but Cole couldn’t really focus on what they were saying.  Too many things were being unsaid for him to hear and feel correctly.  He still wasn’t quite human enough to fully understand all of the different emotions that people both expressed and hid.  There were too many emotions to understand them all.

When The Iron Bull first saw Dorian and Blackwall he had the feeling… it felt like wanting to hide, not wanting to see them laugh, but still wanting to join in the joke. Not quite embarrassment.The Iron Bull might not be capable of embarrassment. Guarded.He knew the emotion Dorian and Blackwall felt when The Iron Bull told them of his plan.  It was surprise.  And caution.  And when The Iron Bull and Dorian looked at each other.  Safety. 

Things became harder when Blackwall asked for his ring.  Dorian and The Iron Bull’s thoughts began to grow louder.  Their thoughts, loud, urgent… the same but so different… opposite sides of the same canyon… screaming, desperate to stay hidden, yearning to be found…. bouncing back and forth, Dorian then The Iron Bull, back and forth…

_I was thinking of sticking around… for a while._

_You’re a good man._

_Would that have anything to do with Iron Bull?_

_You’re a good man._

It hurt. A lot.

Cole watched them part. The Iron Bull turned his back and walked towards the front doors.

“But what about Dorian?” Cole mumbled, quickly on The Iron Bull’s footsteps.

The Qunari sighed, his voice coming softer than his thoughts.  “He doesn’t want to tell me what it is.  It’s okay.”

That wasn’t what Cole had meant, and it also wasn’t true.  Dorian did want The Iron Bull to know, but he was afraid.  He could still hear the echo of the mage’s thoughts as they walked out into the cold night.

_Sticking around… for a while._

The Iron Bull marched down the steps and towards the tavern.  The moon cast an eerie blue glow, throwing shadows against the cool grass between the two buildings.  Cole did not like the colors of night.  They reminded him of being cold and afraid.  He preferred following the Inquisitor through the Emerald Graves and decided that his favorite color was green.  Green was much better than blue.  Green was fresh and life and growth and new.  Cole liked those things.

The Iron Bull went to open the door to the tavern, but paused before he entered.  He hesitantly turned towards Cole.

“Hey, uh, kid,” The Iron Bull said, rubbing some feathers off of the back of his neck. “Do you know- I mean, can you tell if Sera is in here?”

Cole paused, listening very hard.  He shook his head. “She’s not here,” he said, his brows furrowing together slightly.  “But Cassandra and Varric are.”

Cassandra and Varric seemed very unhappy.  Her emotions were palpable. Rage.  Varric was subtler.  Frustration.  They could probably use his help.

The Iron Bull nodded.

“Okay, good,” he said. “Stick close.”

Cole would do what The Iron Bull said, even though he was a little confused.  If The Iron Bull was no longer playing the game, was Cole still his teammate?  He was acting like they were still teammates.  That made Cole happy.

Cassandra and Varric would have to wait.  He would help The Iron Bull first.

The Qunari pushed open the door and warm light spilled out onto the grass at their feet. The tavern smelt of warmth and bread and ale. It was mostly empty. Cole preferred when there were lots of people inside.  Even though most of the people could not see him.  He liked to spend his free time in the upper level, listening to the bard’s songs, watching soldiers play card games and swap stories, soaking up their happy feelings.

They had not taken three steps before a loud voice interrupted their journey towards Sera’s room.

“Chief?”

The Iron Bull growled and Cole could hear his thought clearly.

_Shit._

The teammates turned to see Bull’s Chargers at a table, starring at the Qunari covered in feathers. They felt the same way Dorian and Blackwall did: amazement, confusion.  Krem stood by the table, one leg on a bench and drink halfway up to his lips. He didn’t seem to notice that is was very close to spilling over the edge. 

The Iron Bull nodded at them. “Krem.  Chargers.”

For a few seconds, no one moved, and then, in a breath, every Charger erupted into fits of laughter. Krem completely dropped his drink; it fell to the ground with a clank and spilled amber liquid everywhere. He was bent over, doubled. The dwarf began to bang his fist on the table and the two female elves leaned on each other, snorting wildly. Even the one who never seemed to talk, only grunted, couldn’t catch his breath.

A wide grin spread across Cole’s face as his head darted between The Iron Bull and his howling men.

“Yes, yes,” The Iron Bull shook his head, “I’m a mess.  Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Chie- Chief,” Krem wheezed out between laughs.  “Wh- Ha Ha… What happened to you?”

“It doesn’t really matter,” he sighed.  Cole could see the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.  Even his mind was growing quieter.  “At least you boys are having a better night than I am.”

Krem wiped tears from his eyes.  “Ha, you can say that again.”

The Iron Bull shifted into his authoritative voice.  “Just because you are all up this late drinking, doesn’t mean I’m going to let you slack off during sparring in the morning.  I don’t expect us to get anymore work if employers think you are all a bunch of lazy drunkards.”

Krem waved him off. “Sorry Chief.  Can’t take you seriously.  Not looking like that.”

Another eruption of laughter, and the dwarf fell backwards off of the bench, which only made them all laugh harder.

The Iron Bull shook his head. “I’m going to go take care of _this_.  And if anyone even mentions this tomorrow morning, you’ll find yourself with a new sparring partner.  Me. Just a warning.”

“You got it Chief,” Krem said. “Have- have fun.”

The Iron Bull turned and went up the stairs; Cole sticking close like he promised, the howling dimming with each step they took.  When they reached the second floor there were two soldiers sitting very close to each other. As they passed them towards Sera’s room, Cole could hear the man’s thoughts.  He was bitter and couldn’t understand why people kept coming up and interrupting them.

Sera’s door was locked, but that didn’t seem to phase The Iron Bull.  He knelt down in front of it and began to pick at the lock. Cole sat down on a barrel near the door, swinging his legs, still high off of the Chargers’ amusement.

Cole liked focusing on the emotions between The Iron Bull and his Chargers.  They felt a lot like the emotions between The Iron Bull and Dorian, but there were subtle differences.  With Dorian there was safety, fondness… like finding an equal. With the Chargers it felt like… The Iron Bull was watching over them, like a father but not quite. Protection.

Like Dorian, there was tension in The Iron Bull’s mind when he looked at the Chargers. It made Cole feel bitter. Regret… like losing something you didn’t know you had.  It kind of felt how Blackwall often felt… twisting and turning, hiding from one’s self, from the world… deep and dark.  Cole had just recently learned its name. Shame.

_You’re a good man._

The lock clicked and The Iron Bull gave a big, feathery grin.  “How’s that for spy-training, Sera?”  He chuckled at a joke he made.  Cole thought he kind of understood it.

The Iron Bull pushed the door open.  “Wait here, kid,” he said. “And keep quiet. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m up here, got it?”

Cole nodded. He watched as The Iron Bull entered cautiously. Cole could see him rummage under pillows and books through the open doorway.  The Qunari systematically checked in locations, looking for their hidden objects.

Cole wished that he was better at talking.  He knew the others didn’t like him using his abilities to feel their emotions, but sometimes that was the only way he knew how to understand them.  Being a human was so complicated, with words that meant things but then they didn’t mean them other times, and feeling emotions that make you act differently than how you want to.  Cole couldn’t wrap his head around it.  With each step towards humanity Cole took, he thought that he would be able to understand more, but it seemed like he just understood less, like adding sand to water; it just made it murky. 

He couldn’t understand why Dorian and The Iron Bull were so adamant about not talking about it. Talking could help. Looking in their heads wasn’t enough to understand.  There was a lot there. Maybe if Cole was better at talking, he could get The Iron Bull to explain.  And if he explained maybe Cole could fix it.  And they could be happy.

Cassandra and Varric’s thoughts had grown quieter downstairs.  Cole wanted to go check on them, see why they were now quiet, but The Iron Bull had told him to wait there.

He was so focused on trying to hear Cassandra and Varric that he almost didn’t notice when _she_ came up the stairs.  Long before he saw her, he could feel her quiet concentration as she stepped in all the spots that wouldn’t creak, as she bit at her tongue to stifle a laugh, as she prided herself on how clever she was.

_Doesn’t want to play my game?  Doesn’t follow the rules?  I’ll show him._

Cole opened his mouth, as if to warn The Iron Bull, but then he remembered that he had told Cole to keep quiet. He closed his mouth as Sera snuck her way around the corner, closing in on them.  She glanced nervously at Cole, as if expecting him to do something, but he just watched her, continuing to swing his legs. She made sure to give herself a wide berth from Cole as she inched towards the open door.  The Iron Bull was still searching, completely unaware of what was happening.

_Ugh, IT is staring at me.  Why does IT always stare? Whatever._

Cole tilted his head curiously.  He wanted to see what Sera was about to do.  He wanted to see if The Iron Bull would see.  Would she be sad if she was caught?  Would The Iron Bull be very angry?

_My game, my rules.  For his own good. If he doesn’ wanna play fair, he’s getting’ the hard way._

In one swift motion, Sera leapt forward, snatched the door handle to pull the door closed, and slid a thick metal pole (which Cole just now noticed had been waiting in the corner) over the handle. 

“What th-“ The Qunari’s voice was muffled through the door, and with it came the rattling of the door handle.

Sera turned to Cole, her face smug.  She reached into her pocket, pulling a piece of paper from it.  She handed it to Cole, taking special care not to touch him, and then darted down stairs.  Gone.

“Kid! Are you out there?” The Iron Bull’s voice sounded very confused as he began to bang on the door from inside.

“Yes, I am out here,” Cole answered.

“What happened to the door?”

“Sera locked it.”

“Sera?” The voice growled. “I thought she wasn’t here.”

“She wasn’t. She followed us.”

A heavy sigh through the door. “She planned this. Our stuff isn’t here. Unlock the door so we can try somewhere else.”

“I can’t do that,” Cole explained, thumbing the paper in his hand.  “Sera is punishing you.  You broke the rules… broke her toy.  You said that we were done playing the game, but Sera says we are not. We are still playing, which means I am still helping.”

Cole looked down at the message in his hands.

 

DON’T LET HIM OUT UNTIL HE TALKS ABOUT IT.

 

Even though The Iron Bull didn’t want to play anymore, Sera was still determined to fix it. Cole wanted to fix it, too. He could play, help, fix the words unspoken… make the wrongs right and help the words not taste so bitter.

_You’re a good man._

Cole was good at helping.

 


	9. A Game of Numbers

“I’m not sure what I expected this to feel like, but this certainly is… enlightening,” Blackwall frowned. “How do women even move in these things?”

“Yes, yes, their talents are unparalleled for being able to walk in a skirt,” Dorian said.

The mage had seen a great many bizarre things in his life, but Blackwall in his dress might have been the strangest.  The bearded man had put the yellow monstrosity on over his clothes, just as Dorian had, but his strong barrel chest was too large for the blouse and the back remained un-buttoned because of it.  His dress had also come with a ruffled collar, which Blackwall had fussed with for ten minutes, trying to decide whether he was more comfortable with his whiskers tucked in it or pulled out, before deciding to just rip it off and throw it on the ground.

“Hopefully Sera won’t reprimand us for your lack of elegance,” Dorian added.

They hadn’t even made it out of the Keep without Blackwall tripping on the front of his skirt five times. His boots kept snagging on the front and he nearly was sent flying beard first down the front stairs. He eventually just tucked the front of the skirt up and into his sash, much to Dorian’s dismay. The mage was sure that Sera would see it and disapprove.

“There was no way I would have been able to make it all the way there without tripping and killing myself,” Blackwall stated.

“Well it’s your own fault for choosing to sleep so far away in the stables, like an animal,” Dorian quipped, absent mindedly pulling at his sleeves and smoothing the satin down.

“I explained this already, I choose not to use my room in the Keep, because-“

“I know, I know, the isolation and open air remind you of your recruiting days.  You don’t need to reiterate it to me, thank you. Just because you can explain it, doesn’t mean it suddenly will make sense to us civilized folk.”

“I’m sorry if my sleeping habits don’t include fine, feathery pillows and silk sheets like yours do, pretty boy,” Blackwall grunted.

Dorian shook his head. Despite how absurd Blackwall looked, which Dorian noted was strikingly similar to an over stuffed banana, the mage was very grateful that they had run into The Bull _before_ Sera decided to play dress-up with them. He could imagine that loud, gravely laugh he had come to adore and the taunting that would ensue.

_Better hike up your skirt, mage boy._

Dorian rolled his eyes thinking about it, biting the inside of his cheek as to hide a smile. It seemed like not that long ago Bull and him were making jabs at each other, exchanging insults while following their Inquisitor and killing Vints around Fereldan.  Well, to be honest, Dorian had done most of the insulting. He had assumed Bull was like the image his childhood had painted of the Qunari, savage beasts with a skewed sense of morality.  And of course, Bull was nothing like that.  Each jab or poke Dorian had issued was easily forgotten through Bull’s easy laugh and a jarring innuendo. Dorian used to hate that, the way Bull shrugged off everything.  And now… well now, things were different.

Dorian would never admit it to Blackwall, but he was concerned about what had just happened with Bull. Dorian rarely saw Bull that tense- earnest, yes and often, but tense, never.  And part of Dorian felt like he was the reason behind it.

Was it incredibly selfish for Dorian to wish Bull had told him what Sera had taken from him without disclosing is own object?  Probably. Dorian was not used to the giving nature of relationships- not that this was a relationship… whatever _this_ was- but when it came to putting in honesty, Dorian had found that Bull was a much more willing giver than himself. Bull was always there to make sure Dorian was all right, ask him about his day, lend a shoulder to be comforted on, while Dorian seemed unable to tear himself away from his guarded disposition.

But the interaction that had just occurred weighed heavily on Dorian’s mind.  For as forthright as Bull’s nature was, he seemed distant and withdrawn, and that frightened Dorian a little.  It caused so many questions to flood his mind.

_Why was Bull acting so strange?  Does he know what Sera took from me?  Does he not approve?  Is he finally done with me?_

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind; just like he did with many of the thoughts he had about Bull. It was easier to not think about things, because when he did allow himself to, things became muddled and serious and… real.  Being with The Iron Bull was dirty, dangerous, forbidden, and good; so, so, deliciously good. And often it was better than good. It was great.  So great, in fact, that the thought of it ending scared Dorian. Whatever was going on between them was something Dorian had never experienced with anyone before and continuing seemed just as scary as ending it.

So he continued to try and push thoughts of Bull from his mind, not allowing himself time to pause and reflect, in an attempt to stay in the limbo he created, not ending it or continuing it, but just _being_ with Bull.

But now it looked like that limbo might be coming to an end.

The two men arrived at the stables after tripping on their ruffles only a couple more times.   Sure enough, an envelope was waiting on the bedroll by the fire.

“I hope Sera doesn’t have us ballroom dancing together or anything.” Dorian smirked. “I don’t think we would survive the event, considering you’re you and my poor feet would surely never recover from you stepping all over them.”

“I know how to dance,” Blackwall answered, his eyes glinting.  “Doesn’t mean I’m going to show ya.  Even if you beg.”

“You will get no such thing from me, thank you.”  Dorian folded his arms over his chest- or at least he tried to, but the periwinkle sleeves proved to be a bit more constrictive than he had thought.  Instead, he took the clue from Blackwall. “Shall I read it and save you the embarrassment or did you want to try again?”

“Just read the Blighted clue!”

Dorian obliged.

 

A GAME OF NUMBERS:

FOUR THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW

THREE THINGS ARE MISSING FROM THIS STABLE

TWO OF THEM HAVE ENVELOPES

ONE FOR EACH OF YOU

ZERO PERCENT CHANCE SHE’LL FORGIVE YOU IF YOU DON’T FIND THEM

 

“I’m really starting to detest these stupid things,” Dorian scowled, after reading the clue aloud to Blackwall.

Blackwall looked around, confused.  “It doesn’t look like anything is missing.  Does it give any indication as to what we should be looking for?”

“That would be far too easy, wouldn’t it?”

They began to search, for what they had no idea.  Blackwall climbed the stairs to search the rafters, which proved very difficult to do with all the extra fabric blocking his view of each step.  Dorian waited patiently for Blackwall to return, hoping he’d not-find whatever it was they were to find.

Dorian hated the stables. They smelt of animal dung and moldy hay. He couldn’t understand how Blackwall could spend all of his time in here.  Of all the things that Dorian would never understand about the man, that fact might be the most dumbfounding.

When Blackwall returned unsuccessful, Dorian began to rifle through some piles of hay and the former inspected boxes by his griffon statue.  The silent night air was soon filled with rufflings and scuffles as the men searched to no avail. There weren’t many things in the stable to begin with, and Dorian was growing restless.

“Since you spend all of your free time in here, surely you must have some idea what we are looking for,” Dorian sighed, holding his dress up and pushing the hay around with his boot, not wanting to actually touch anything with his hands.

“I already told you, it doesn’t look like anything is missing.  Besides, the clue mentions a ‘she’.  The only other person who frequents here is the Inquisitor, so I’m guessing it means her.  You spend a great deal of your free time together.  You are better equipped to figuring out what exactly she would not be pleased with if it went missing.”

Dorian sighed. “I’ve already solved all of our other clues.  I know I’m clever, but why should I have to solve this one as well?  And besides I have no idea what Lavellan could possibly enjoy he-“

Suddenly, it donned on Dorian. The stable was very quiet. Very, _very_ quiet.

“Blackwall,” Dorian began, “what mounts did Lavellan and the Advisors take on their trip?”

“Master Dennett’s horses…” Blackwall’s words slowed as he slowly began to understand why Dorian had asked. 

Without saying another word, both men peeked their heads through the opening to find the stables that housed all of Lavellan’s precious and exotic mounts were empty.

As if on queue, a bleating sound came from behind them, causing them both to jump. Lavellan’s prized Hart was standing near the mouth of the stables, alert and starring back at the men, its massive antlers splayed out above its head.  There was a large ‘1’ painted on its flank and around its neck, tied there by some rope, was an envelope.

“Maker have mercy,” Blackwall breathed.

Neither man moved, for fear of startling the creature away.  They had both spent enough time around it to know that the Hart was incredibly skittish. The only person who seemed to be able to control it and put it at ease was their Inquisitor. But that was her special ability. She was able to charm and comfort any beast, win them over with the sound of her voice, gain their trust with the soft brush of her delicate hands.  She spent so much of her time hunting and learning the ways of the animals; communicating with them was just second nature to her.  Dorian thought fondly about how that ability extended far beyond just her animals, and how, in a way, every one of her Inner Circle had fallen prey to her powers.  She had calmed and comforted them, and now they were each devoted to her.

Dorian took a couple of cautious steps towards the great creature. 

“Be careful, Dorian,” Blackwall whispered, not moving.

“I know,” he snapped back, hushed.

Dorian inched forward, humming softly like he had heard Lavellan do while around her animals. The Hart watched him at first, tilting its head, but eventually looked away.  Dorian used the opportunity to take a couple more steps.

When he got close enough to raise his arm, the Hart snapped its head back towards him, taking a couple of nervous steps back.  He froze, and he could hear Blackwall suck in his breath behind him.  A couple more cautious steps, still humming, Dorian slowly closed the gap between them.

“There’s a pretty boy… shhhh… it’s alright… I’m not going to hurt you,” Dorian cooed. Reaching his hand still. The Hart seemed to ease slightly at his words.

He was getting very close. He could practically feel the beast’s breath on his face. If he could just grab the rope around its neck, he could lead it back to the stables and take the envelope-

Suddenly, there was a loud banging sound from the tavern, followed by the sounds of shouting. The Hart darted away quickly, almost kicking Dorian in its frantic departure.

“Kaffas!” Dorian cursed, hiking his skirt and chasing it.

“Dorian!” Blackwall called out, but Dorian was already running out, periwinkle fabric bunched up in his fists.

“We need to catch it!” Dorian shouted back over his shoulder. “The other two must be loose as well!”

Lavellan had three mounts that she adored more than almost anything.  If Dorian interpreted the clue correctly, Sera let all three out, but only two had the next clue.

The Hart bucked and ran past the empty merchant tables.  When it saw Dorian right behind it, it picked up speed, high tailing it towards the stairs and away from the mage.  Dorian cast a frozen barrier, creating a small barricade of icicles, trying to block its path, but the beast leapt over it in one graceful jump.

“That’s the best you can do?” Blackwall grunted, finally catching up to Dorian.  He had stopped to tie the front of his skirt into a knot and had grabbed some rope from the stables.

“I don’t see you helping any,” Dorian whined, somewhat winded.  “Do you see the other two?”

“No, not yet. Do you think Sera put us in dresses just to watch us run around Skyhold in them, chasing some animals like a couple of buffoons?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

They bounded up the stairs together.  The Hart had paused at the top, unsure of where to go to next. 

“Lavellan is going to kill Sera if anything happens to her mounts,” Blackwall panted.

“Maybe catching them is counterproductive then.  We can conserve our energy and she can save me the trouble of killing Sera myself for making us run around in these horrid things,” the mage laughed.

Dorian nearly tripped over his periwinkle ruffles, which he had released in order to cast his spell. He swore under his breath as he tossed as much fabric as he could over his shoulder. 

The Hart noticed them gaining and darted towards the stairs to the Keep.  Blackwall went to cut it off and Dorian cast another barrier. The Hart bleated again as it saw Blackwall advancing on it’s right.  It dodged, just as Dorian’s barrier went up.  The ice caught at Blackwall’s feet, spending him through the air and back onto the ground in a pile of yellow fabric.

“Sorry!” Dorian called over his shoulder, chasing the Hart back behind the tavern towards the training dummies. He heard Blackwall bellow out some incoherent curse, just as the Hart rounded a corner and nearly ran into Lavellan’s Dracolisk. Startled, the Dracolisk opened its mouth and screeched, it’s golden eyes dangerous and protective. The Hart reared in fear, running back the way it came, nearly knocking Dorian over.  The Dracolisk screeched again, barring its sharp teeth, this time focusing on Dorian.  It’s reptile like skin even creepier in the moonlight.

Blackwall caught up, out of breath and rubbing his backside where he had hit the ground.

“I’ll take care of this one,” Dorian ordered.  “You go catch the Hart.”

Blackwall nodded and disappeared after the antlered beast.

Dorian didn’t dare take his eyes of the Dracolisk, which was now beginning to circle, a deep growl coming from its skeletal body.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Dorian coaxed gently, putting his hands up as if to show the beast he meant it no harm. He could see a giant ‘3’ painted onto its side and the rope around its neck was fraying, as if the creature had been gnawing at it.

The Dracolisk snapped its jaws, afraid as Dorian slowly approached.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, voice soothing.  “I’m just trying to put you back where you belong.  That nasty elf let you out and now I’m going to put you back so that Lavellan can care for you again.”

At the mention of her name, the Dracolisk closed its mouth and titled its head.

“That’s right,” Dorian said, unable to help a smile.  “Lavellan, the one who babies you nasty beasts and insists on feeding and caring for you first before she will see that I am fed and cared for on our trips.” Dorian liked to complain about Lavellan stubbornly caring for and feeding her animals before they set up camp (and once before allowing Dorian to heal up).  But no matter how many times he fussed, she wouldn’t yield. She would just shake her head and smile.

“She will miss you terribly if I don’t get you back to the stables,” Dorian continued, the beast watching him as if in a trance.  “In fact, she might not ever forgive me.  Foolish woman will let me call her any name I want but call one of her beasts ‘ugly’ and she gives me the silent treatment for three days.  If I didn’t know any better I might think she loves you smelly things more than me.”

Dorian laughed, but a little piece of him did hold some sort of jealousy against the creature. It wasn’t that he felt neglected by the Inquisitor, quite the contrary.  The woman had become his dearest friend.  She defended him from the moment they had met, shamelessly flirted with him because she knew he enjoyed it, and spent hours protectively watching him study in the library.  When his father had paid him a visit, she didn’t pressure him to do anything.  She supported him, and waited for him to decide what he wanted to do, even telling him she would follow him if he wanted to leave. A part of him was still convinced that she might have slit his father’s throat if Dorian had asked. That was just the amount of loyalty she displayed and the ferocity with which she loved.

And because she was so loyal and generous and smart, part of Dorian wished that he could have her all to himself.  He had never experienced such a friendship like that.  It was completely unselfish, un-wanting.  She loved him simply for him.  Even his… whatever it was with Bull had strings; there were things he just couldn’t quite bring himself to tell the Qunari.  But with her, he had no reservations.

Dorian knew that wanting Lavellan’s friendship all to himself was selfish and completely unrealistic, since she was equally devoted to all of her friends.  He was sure that those nights where they curled up together, talking about Maker knows what events happened that day, and she would lay her head against his chest, whispering through a smile that _HE_ was her family, were just words to feed his already staggeringly large ego.  The gesture was always unnecessary, but Dorian would be lying if he said it didn’t make him incredibly happy.

The Dracolisk seemed calm enough for Dorian to approach (it was amazing that even without Lavellan physically there, just mentioning her was enough to calm the thing) and Dorian grabbed ahold of the rope around its neck.  He ripped off the envelope and to his dismay only found a hand drawn picture of Dorian and Blackwall with large tears going down their faces.

Obviously, this wasn’t one of the clues.  Dorian breathed through his nose, trying not to let the animal see his frustration out of fear that it might make become upset again.

Dorian led the Dracolisk back to the stables with ease.  It trotted alongside him as he pulled the rope around its neck. He had a little trouble getting it down the flight of stairs to the lower level, since the Dracolisk suddenly seemed to be afraid of heights.

“I’ve seen you scale mountains you stupid cretin,” Dorian huffed, getting behind it and pushing it down.

Incredibly slow, the Dracolisk crawled down the stairs, and Dorian was able to get it back in its stall without a hitch.  It was then that he noticed that the Hart had still not been returned. Dorian looked around, but there was no sight of the bearded man, nor could Dorian hear any struggle.

“Blackwall?” Dorian called, making his way back passed the merchant tables. 

Skyhold was very still. Dorian wondered what time it was. It had to be very early, maybe not quite four?  Dorian tended to avoid walking around Skyhold when it was like this.  Late night walks were the perfect place for suppressed thoughts to creep to the front of his mind.  He much preferred the library, where he could read and study and cram his brain full of information and suffocate all those questions and feelings.

It didn’t take long for him to realize what had happened.  He didn’t find the Hart or Blackwall, but he did find that the front gate to Skyhold had been opened.  It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together, especially with so few other places for Blackwall to be.

Dorian had not only lost his dearest friend’s pet, but he had also managed to lose his teammate. Somehow, this didn’t feel like it had been a part of Sera’s plan.

 


	10. The Goodbye Cure

“Varric,” Cassandra hiccupped. “Varric, I can’t take another sip. You have to finish it.”

She lazily passed him the bottle, which now had about an inch of liquid swirling around the bottom. Cassandra’s vision was spinning slightly, but at least the burning in her throat had been numbed a while ago. Her stomach felt like it was swimming in the vile liquid.  She wasn’t sure how long they had been locked in that room.  It didn’t feel like _that_ much time had passed, but her mind was so groggy, even saying a simple sentence took longer than it normally did.  She knew it couldn’t be too late, because there were still people in the tavern. Not that long ago, an explosion of laughter echoed from behind the closed door.  It had made Cassandra feel so far away from everyone, everyone except Varric.

She openly admitted to herself that the dwarf had done most of the hard work on the bottle. She was pretty sure she would have died if she had kept up with his number of gulps, and she was grateful to him for not making her do so.  She wasn’t sure exactly when she had abandoned her stiff, upright position in her chair for her current slouched-against-some-barrels arrangement on the floor. She also wasn’t sure if Varric was even awake, considering that he was also on the floor, lying very still with his face starring straight at the water-damaged ceiling.

After their fight, they had drunk in silence, apart from the painful gurgles and gags that came with each sip.  But as more and more of the drink warmed Cassandra’s blood, the fight seemed to become more distant and now she could hardly remember why she had been so enraged in the first place.

Eventually, Varric laboriously lifted himself to his elbows, his eyes still closed. “Only if you ask nicely,” he said, tilting his head.

Cassandra’s pride was fighting a losing battle against her swimming vision.  She wanted to roll her eyes, but feared it might make her sick. “Please, Varric.” She almost groaned.

Varric looked smug as he took the bottle from her, setting it next to his sprawled legs. He didn’t drink it right away. Instead he stood, slowly.

“First, I gotta piss something fierce,” he said, stumbling towards the corner of the room.

Cassandra grumbled. “ _Again_?”

“What can I say, this stuff goes right through me,” he called over his shoulder.

The first time Varric had done this, she had been completely disgusted, but now she couldn’t muster the energy for it.  Even though Varric was turned from her, Cassandra still closed her eyes.  She began to hum to herself so she couldn’t hear anything. She only opened her eyes when she was sure he was on the floor next to her again.

“You said this swill was dwarven, yes?”  Cassandra asked, slurring over words as she went.  “Do you often drink it?”

“Ha, no,” Varric chuckled. “Only on special occasions, and not the happy kind.  It has some fancy name the noble who brewed it gave it, but most dwarves now a days just know it as The Goodbye Cure.  It’s used for forgetting, not celebrating.  It’s hard to concentrate on your personal pain with liquid fire sliding down into your gut.”

“The Goodbye Cure,” Cassandra repeated to herself, her head rolling onto her shoulder.

“Yep, you can just kiss those painful memories ‘goodbye’.”  Varric waved his hand wistfully through the air.  Cassandra found it hard to track it with her eyes. She realized that if Skyhold were to suddenly be under attack at that moment, she would be useless. It was probably a good thing that Corypheus was no longer a threat to them, or anyone for that matter, but Cassandra was always one to be prepared, to be vigilant.  You never knew what would happen next…

“Have you sought this cure out often?”  She asked.

“Once or twice… there are things that I’m not proud of and this shit helps me deal with them.” Varric’s eyes became unfocused and distant, as if those terrible memories were desperately trying to resurface through his drunken mind.  Finally, he shook his head and continued.  “We’ve all been through some messed up stuff, you know?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.  I suppose we have.”

“But I don’t care too much for this shit.  A storyteller is no good if he can’t remember the details, right?”

Cassandra snorted, which seemed to take Varric by surprise.  “I suppose it doesn’t matter if he makes most of them up anyways.”

“Ouch.” Varric clutched his exposed chest, dramatically.  “That was truly vicious, Seeker.  I’ll have you know, I never make up my details.  Occasionally I embellish, but that’s just for technicalities.”

Varric took the bottle and raised it high, swirling the remaining liquid.  “To making it through this bottle alive, a feat all in its own,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.  Quickly, as if to not allow himself to back out, Varric chugged the remaining contents of the bottle.  He set it down with a gasp, the empty glass clinking on the cold stone.

“We actually finished,” Cassandra slurred, gesturing to them.  “I thought we’d be stuck in here for…” 

The thought escaped her. She shook her head, trying to retrieve it, but it was gone.  She sounded like a drunken fool.

“You alright?” Varric asked.  Cassandra couldn’t tell if he was teasing again or a little concerned, perhaps both.  “If you need to- you know- make sure you make it in one of those barrels, or at least in the piss corner.”

Cassandra shrugged against her barrel, pouting her lips and crinkling her nose. The gesture made Varric laugh. “I’m fine.  I’ve been drunker,” she said.

“Ha! I would have paid good money to see that,” Varric said.

“It was not my finest moment.”

“I believe it.”

As if by divine province, the door opened and Cabot poked his head in.  Cabot was a hard looking dwarf, and Cassandra was sure he never smiled, but he definitely got a glint in his eye when he saw them on the ground together.  He didn’t say anything, but simply handed Cassandra an envelope and left, leaving the door open behind him.

Cassandra handed Varric the note.  “I don’t think I can read right now,” she said, eyes still unable to focus.  She closed them, hoping it would help.

“I’ve got it.” Varric ripped open the envelope and gave a sigh of relief.  “Thank the Maker, it isn’t a word problem.  I didn’t think I’d be able to solve any riddles right now.”

“What does it say?”

“Follow the arrows?”

“What arrows?”

“I guess, we’ll find out.” Varric stood, groaning. He caught his balance on a barrel before extending his hand out to Cassandra.  “Here, need help up?”

Cassandra was sure she caught surprise on his face with how easily she took his hand for help. He hoisted her up, but the sudden change in movement caused her head to start spinning uncontrollably and Cassandra nearly fell forward.  Luckily, Varric caught her by the shoulders.

“Whoa there,” he said, holding her steady.

When she was sure she had her balance she shook him off.  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she insisted.

Varric nodded and released her, keeping his hands at the ready incase he needed to catch her again. Cassandra led the way with shaky steps out of the storage room and back into the tavern, holding onto the wall and doorframes as she went.

The Chargers were still at their table, but this time they were noisily chattering about something. Cassandra caught fragments about feathers and horned chickens, but she couldn’t really piece the conversation together. Plus, listening to their loud voices was pressing at her ears. 

Varric tapped at her shoulder, pointing at the entrance.  “There,” he said, gesturing at the arrow that had been imbedded into the wood of the droorframe.  “Looks like we’re headin’ outside.”

She gave a nod. Stepping outside was exactly what Cassandra needed.  The cold night air washed over them, soaking her skin in chill and sending goose bumps rushing up and down her arms.  The air in the tavern had been warm and stuffy, but outside she felt like she could breathe again. She still felt drunk, but at least her head felt less foggy.

They stood there for a second, catching their breath, sobering up in the chill. Cassandra turned towards Varric to ask if he saw the next arrow, but before she could say a word, a deafening clattering came from the stairs.  To their surprise, Lavellan’s Hart came bounding up and stopped short on the grassy landing. Neither Cassandra or Varric moved. To be honest, Cassandra wasn’t even sure if the Hart was really there.  Maybe the alcohol had affected her more than she initially thought…

But then, Dorian and Blackwall came bounding up the stairs after the Hart- at least, they sounded like Dorian and Blackwall.  Cassandra wasn’t sure it was them, considering they looked very different from when she last saw them. The two men were wearing large dresses; except Blackwall had his tied up into a knot at his waist. They didn’t even notice Cassandra and Varric teetering in the doorway of the tavern.

The Hart bleated and tried to get away from the men, who appeared to be chasing it. Just when it looked like Blackwall was close enough to grab it, Dorian cast a spell, creating an ice barricade and causing the Hart to change directions.  Blackwall wasn’t as quick and slipped on the icy ground, flying up into the air and landing on his rear end.

“Sorry!” Dorian called as he followed the Hart around the corner.

Cassandra and Varric watched as Blackwall grumbled to himself something about ‘Blighted magic’, and slowly stood, rubbing his back end as he followed suit.  The whole thing happened so quickly, Cassandra and Varric stood in silence for a few seconds, trying to grasp what just happened.

Cassandra could only manage a stutter.  “Did- did you just-“

“Yep.”

“Dorian and-“

“Uh-huh.”

“Maker, I…”

They glanced at each other and immediately burst into laughter.  Cassandra laughed so hard it felt like her rib cage was rattling. Varric was banging a fist against the doorframe.  Tears began to stream down her face.  They howled until Cassandra was sure one of them was going to throw up.

“I think- HA, I think I drank more than I thought I did,” she said, desperately trying to catch her breath.

“You and me both,” Varric said, wiping tears from his own eyes.

“I can’t even remember the last time I laughed that hard,” she said, a wide smile still on her face.

“Well, look at you, Seeker,” Varric said, folding his arms across his chest.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were enjoying yourself.”

“Hardly,” she smirked.

“ _And_ she’s back.”  He shook his head.  “Couldn’t have too much fun I suppose.”

Cassandra sighed. “For someone who just drank her weight in that poison, I do have to admit, I feel rather pleasant.”

“The Goodbye Cure for ya, flush out the bad and leave you feeling nothing but good.  Unfortunately, it won’t last forever.  You are going to have the meanest hangover you’ve ever had, trust me.”

She groaned. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“At least we know that Sera wasn’t that cruel to us in comparison.  Dorian and Blackwall just painted an image I will never get out of my head.”

Cassandra laughed wildly, clutching her side again.  “Ow, ow, ow, no stop. I can’t laugh anymore.  It hurts too much.”

Varric whistled. “Well, what do we have here?” He left the doorframe to pick up an arrow that lay at the top of the stairs.  “C’mon Seeker, I think I picked up the trail.”

They headed down the stone steps to the lower level.  Varric had his hand extended for Cassandra, but she was adamant about using the wall for support as she eased herself down.  The trail led right to the front gate.

“Sera is leading us out of Skyhold?”  Cassandra asked, gripping the metal rungs for stability as she peered through the bars for the next arrow.

“Only one way to find out.” The dwarf opened the gate. “After you,” he gestured with a bow.

Varric lifted the gate, which creaked with its weight.  Normally, it took two soldiers to hoist it, and for the first time Cassandra noticed how strong Varric was.  When the gate was lifted, Varric fastened it, leaving it wide open to the world below. Cassandra held her head up and wobbled her way out onto the bridge, which for some reason seemed twice as high as it normally did.  For a second, she felt like she was falling and it took all of her willpower to keep from crawling the rest of the way.  If Varric noticed her hesitance, he didn’t say anything.

He found another arrow on the bridge, so at least they were on the right path.  Each one they found, Varric carried in his hand, as if he planned on returning them to Sera.  Cassandra thought about taking them and throwing them down into the darkness, but ultimately decided against it.  One, it seemed a terribly childish thing to do, and two, the last time she tried to spite Sera it backfired immensely.  Cassandra didn’t like to make the same mistake twice if she could help it.

They had made it across the bridge, when Cassandra noticed that Varric was starring up at her, a goofy grin on his face.

“What are you smiling about?” She asked, confused at to what he could be looking at.

“You know, your cheeks get a rosy tint to them when you’re drunk,” he laughed.

Cassandra instinctively hid her cheeks with her hands, unable to hide the embarrassment from her voice.   “They do no such thing. It is simply the cold.”

It was much colder outside of Skyhold; there were no walls to keep the wind away. Luckily, the snow that had been on the mountain a few weeks earlier had melted due to warmer weather, but the wind was still biting as it tore through the rocky passes. Cassandra braced herself against the cold.  She never understood how Varric wore that flimsy shirt and how he always seemed to leave it open. Wasn’t he cold? And who was honestly impressed by his open shirt?

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Varric said, reassuringly.  “It looks good on you.  You look like a fresh young maiden in one of those Orlesian festivals.  The ones with the ribbons in their hair.” Varric spotted another arrow and picked it up as he spoke.  They had crossed the bridge and were on a path heading down into the valley.

Cassandra snorted. “I am hardly a young maiden anymore.”

“Eh, you’re still young. You don’t look a day over-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!”  She warned.

“Fine, fine. I’ll just say, you have plenty of years ahead of you.”

“If I am lucky,” she said, trying not to slur over her serious tone.  “Many warriors my age do not have that opportunity.”

“Don’t be a cynic,” Varric groaned.  “We are still in celebration.  Corypheus is dealt with, bad guys are dropping left and right, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“For now,” she said. “But you know as well as I do, that there will always be another battle, another Blight, another evil. There will always be another thing to die for.”

“True, and that’s why I don’t like to dwell in the future.  I’m a present man, and presently I am happy and safe.  That is, unless the reason why Sera is leading us all the way out here is to give you enough distance to finally end me and due away with my body.”

Cassandra laughed. Varric, looking pleased with himself, bent down to retrieve another arrow.

“I do not think we have spent this long together since we met,” she said.

“Ah, you’re probably right. Funny, whenever I spend quality time with you it seems to be against my will,” Varric shook his head.

She slipped on some loose stones and almost fell.  Varric jumped to her side, ready to catch her but luckily she didn’t fall. Instead, Cassandra noticed some wild flowers by the road.  She was usually not the type to stop and pick flowers, but right now she couldn’t resist. They seemed so pretty; it almost made her sad to leave them behind.  She quickly picked them and continued down the path.  Varric had watched her intently, but said nothing.  He was probably just making sure she could stand back up without falling.

“Since we spend so little quality time together I haven’t had an opportunity to ask whether you enjoyed the new _Swords & Shields_ installment or not,” Varric said, tilting his head.

“Oh, it was wonderful, Varric.” Cassandra clasped her flowers to her chest, swooning.  “Except for the return of that terrible assassin.  The Knight- Captain knows she doesn’t love him, I don’t understand why she always feels the need to go back to him.”  Cassandra gave a frustrated sigh, lost in the emotions stirred by her fictional characters. She turned to Varric. “You have a true talent, Varric.”

“I’m just glad to see it with a grateful audience.”

Cassandra twirled the stems between her fingers, watching the blue pedals spin round and round. Somehow, their motion didn’t make her feel sick.

“Varric, can I ask you a personal question?”

“More personal than the ones you’ve asked me while you forced me to a chair and demanded I tell you all about Hawke?”

And there it was. The constant reminder of her mistakes and failures.  It seemed like she would never be able to move on from them.  Varric clearly hadn’t moved on, so why should the stinging bite of guilt find a new victim?  Even through her drunken stooper and a bottle of The Goodbye Cure she couldn’t be rid of her burdens.

She bit at her lip, shaking her head.  “Never mind,”

She didn’t dare look at Varric, instead focusing her energy on plucking the pedals from her flowers. It had been foolish to think that the rift between them had been gone for a moment.  Some things could just never be undone, and one of those things was their history.

She felt him touch her elbow. “No, no, it was a joke. A bad one, I’ll give you that. Go ahead.  I’d love to answer your question.”  His voice sounded honest. “Promise.  I’m all ears.”

She hesitated, uncertain of him, uncertain of the extent this conversation allowed, uncertain of her own foolishness.

“Please.” His voice came soft, reassuring.

“I was going to ask you, that is… have you ever been in love?”

To her horror, and relief, Varric laughed.  “Ha, that took an unexpected turn.” 

Varric suddenly stopped, and grabbed Cassandra’s elbow again to get her to stop with him. She hadn’t even noticed that the path they were following split in two.   The path they were on continued ahead, but a smaller path, lined with brush and wild flowers, veered down to the right.  Varric found the next arrow pointing down the smaller path. Cassandra had never ventured down the path before, and didn’t know where it led.  They weren’t too far from Skyhold to be concerned about strangers hidden in the brush to ambush them, but the thought did rush through her mind.

Varric nodded with his head to signal Cassandra to follow.  At first, he led the way, but eventually fell into step next to her.

“To answer your question,” he continued, “yes, unfortunately… and, I suppose, fortunately, I’ve felt the icy grip of love.  But I have to ask, what brought that on?”

“Just the way you write your books.  I know in your other works you pull things from your real life, which makes me wonder if what you wrote was like your own romance.”

“No… and yes. A lot less throws of passion in the rain, a lot more well intentioned plans gone awry, and a whole lot of complicated.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Cassandra smiled. “That almost sounds better than your works.”

“In many ways it was. It would make a damn good story, but I can never tell it.”

“If you do share it, I would love to hear it.”

The path led to a lake, which formed between the two crests of the mountain.  Blood lotus sprouted from the rocky shore and insects buzzed around the surface of the black water, causing tiny ripples to lap against the reeds. The mountain snow had melted, but ice still clung to the edges of the water.  A fine mist hung over the surface, hiding the moon’s reflection and making it impossible to see the shore on the other side.  The scene was eerie and still and beautiful. Cassandra found it easy to forget places like this could be visited around Skyhold; things way up at the Keep seemed so much more important than venturing down into the mountains for pretty lakes and nice-smelling flowers.  But Cassandra was grateful to be led here now.

The last arrow was imbedded into a log that was lying on the shore; on it, a single red envelope. Varric took it, but didn’t open it. Instead, he turned to Cassandra.

“You know, Seeker. There is a lot more to you than meets the eye.”  He said, sitting on the log.

“Why? Because I enjoy your frivolous smutty literature?”  Cassandra sat next to him, gently lowering herself down as to avoid drunkenly falling over.

“I mean, you just don’t seem like the kind of woman who would enjoy that kind of stuff.”

“I know I don’t look it,” Cassandra sighed, eyes fixed on the black water.  “When people look at me they see a warrior, a woman who is hard and stubborn and cold.  But I am not that person, not completely anyways.  I know that I can be those things, but I am also scared, and unsure of myself, and lonely. I am proud of who I am and what I do, and if I wasn’t I would have returned to my former life a long time ago, but sometimes I do wish that I could have all of it, to be a fighter and have romance and poetry and frivolousness.  Perhaps it is foolish to want it all…”

“No, not foolish,” he said. “This world can use more romantics.”

“I do not like to think of myself as a romantic.  It makes me feel…”

“Vulnerable.”

“Yes.”

Cassandra had never been one fore sharing, and this seemed strangely intimate, but she couldn’t stop the words from falling from her mouth.  She wasn’t even sure if she was saying them _to_ Varric, necessarily.  They came with such urgency; she might have said them to anyone who was willing to listen. She could feel her guarded walls coming down, and she wasn’t sure if she should blame the alcohol or Varric or her crumbling will power.  But she couldn’t help but feel comforted by how patiently and intently Varric listened to her rambling.

“Okay, let’s play a quick game.”

She groaned, throwing her head back. “Ugh!  No more games, please!”

“Let me rephrase, hypothetical question.  Describe to me your perfect man.  Maybe I can fix you up. I’ve been known to play matchmaker now and again.”  Varric rolled his shoulders, as if in preparation.

She laughed. “Ha, okay fine. Let me think… I always imagined him as a man of honor and faith, perhaps a fellow Seeker.  He would be handsome and intelligent-“

“Well, there’s your problem right there,” he interrupted.  “You want a man that’s handsome _and_ intelligent? Those are impossibly hard to find, yours truly being one of the few exceptions.”

“May I finish?” She pursed her lips as Varric gracefully waved her to continue.  “Intelligent, handsome, disciplined, kind, passionate, can make me laugh… and I can make him laugh.”

“That’s a regular prince charming you’ve dreamed up there.”

“I know, I know, I sound silly.” She threw the flower petals in her hand at the lake.  They rippled and floated on the surface, tiny blue dots against black.

“Now hold up, I didn’t say that,” Varric answered, voice serious.  “Unfortunately for you, my archive of bachelor princes is very small. I typically run with a more… _colorful_ crowd. Hmm, let me think…” He tapped his beard-less chin thoughtfully.  “Have you ever thought about going for Curly?”

“The Commander?”

“What? He’s a good-looking guy. I know you two are close. I mean, he trusted you with his lyrium issues or whatever.  Plus, he’s got the whole broody ex-Templar thing and you’ve got the broody Seeker thing-”

Cassandra shook her head. “Yes.  We are close.  But only as trusted colleges and friends.”  She blushed a little.  “Besides, I think he admires our Inquisitor.”

Cassandra thought fondly of the man they all called Commander.  He, in many aspects of his life, was very reserved and poised, but he was terrible at concealing his personal affections.  Cassandra had caught him many times watching after the Inquisitor with enamored eyes, hanging onto her every word, jumping to her side when she requested assistance, offering all of his time and effort when he had none to spare just to hear her say ‘Thank you, Commander. What would I do without you?’

He had fallen under her spell, like they all had in their own way.  And as desperately as he tried to conceal it, probably even from himself, his blushing and flustered responses were clear giveaways.

“Me too,” Varric chuckled. “Poor guy.  Lavellan’s oblivious to that kinda stuff. She’d much rather be out hunting demons than making googly-eyes at anyone.”

It was true. Even though Lavellan loved each of her Inner Circle deeply, and would easily die for any one of them, she was strangely absent of romantic endeavors.  Her heart belonged to her bow, her friends, and the forests she would explore in isolation.  She didn’t yearn for other things when her heart was already more full than she had ever imagined it would be.

Cassandra sighed as she shuffled her feet on the rocks.  “I do hope some day she might return his affection.  It would be nice to see them both happy.”

“Trust me, she’s happy as she is.  She doesn’t need Curly for that.  But I’m right there with ya. Plus, I’ll be able to record the whole thing.  Imagine it, _Inquisition in Love: The Romance That Breached Their Hearts._ ”

She stuck out her tongue, the alcohol fueling her childish response.  “Sounds terrible.  _I_ wouldn’t even read it.”

“It’s a working title.” Varric smiled. “And don’t worry about your one true love. He may not be at Skyhold, but you’ll find him one day.  And when you do- Ho man! I already pity the guy. Because you, Seeker, are a lot to handle.”

She thought about his words for a moment, before responding.

“I know.” Her lips curled up at the ends.

Her words weren’t ones of self-pity or defeat.  There was truth to them, and pride.  She was Cassandra Pentaghast, cold and brash and romantic and flawed, all wrapped into one. She _was_ a lot to handle, and at that moment she felt completely at peace with it.

Varric didn’t open the letter just yet; instead the team sat on the log, watching the black water and the reeds, listening to the wind, sharing the silence and the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so incredibly hard to write, I don't know why. I hope it was worth all the effort.
> 
> Also, I fell in love with the idea of Cassandra and Varric both shipping Cullen with the Inquisitor. Nothing brings people closer together, quite like sharing ships :)


	11. But It Makes You Hurt

“You know, I’m strong enough to break down the door if I wanted to,” Bull sighed, shifting his feet. “There is nothing really keeping me here.”

“I know.” The voice sounded so distant through the door.  Bull strained to catch it. “You won’t, though.”

Bull breathed heavily. Sometimes he hated how the spirit knew… _things_.  Anyone else would have felt threatened and let him out. But Cole could see how fruitless Bull’s threat was.

He looked for something, anything- a way out, a way to escape through the windows, a way to undo the bolt on the other side of the door- but resigned to plopping down on Sera’s pillows, the wood creaking under his weight.  He didn’t even care about leaving feathers all over her things. He considered it retribution.

He had been careless. If he had demonstrated any sense he would have realized Sera never would have left the items in her room. He had blindly led himself into his own trap, like an amateur.  He should have known better.  He _did_ know better.

There were definitely worse places to be locked in.  Sera’s room had plenty of plush pillows to keep the Qunari comfortable and things for him to look at.  It reminded Bull of Dorian’s bedroom.  There were stacks of books- which Bull questioned if Sera even read- and decorative tapestries and curtains, and just a lot of _things_. Bull didn’t understand the need for lots of things.  He enjoyed functionality and kept his room to the bare minimums: bed, a table and chair, a rack for his weapon and harness, a lockbox for his coin.  He liked the simplicity of it, which stood in contradiction to Dorian’s embellished living space.  Bull often teased Dorian for his attachment to those possessions. The mage enjoyed having his mementos and trinkets and valuables, and even though Bull would never be able to understand their value, he would at least admit that they were intriguing to look at.

Bull could easily be entertained in Sera’s room, his eye wondering from the stuffed lizard-creature perched atop the bookshelf to the messy collection of cards on the small table. But he wasn’t a fan of confined spaces. The room might seem spacious to a tiny elf, but Bull’s bulk swallowed up a lot of his moving room.

“If I promise to play by the rules, will you let me out?”  Bull leaned forward onto his elbows, starring at the wooden door.

“I cannot,” came Cole’s voice. “But I can if you talk about it.”

Bull cocked a brow. “Talk about what?”

Bull’s voice rumbled from deep in his chest, but he strained against it.  Sera was trying to pick him apart.  She was playing at an angle that Bull hadn’t yet figured out. He knew she was using Cole to work at him, but Bull didn’t want her to succeed.  He would remain together, intact, and complacent.  He had let Sera enable his emotions before. She had toyed with him, got him to stop thinking logically.  He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“What about Dorian?”

Bull’s breath hitched slightly when the question came through the door.  Cole had asked that question multiple times already, but still Bull wasn’t sure about what he was asking.  Bull sat and contemplated for a second, rifling through possible interpretations. This had become a game of questions and answers, and how Bull chose to give those answers determined the outcome of the game.

If the conversation Sera wanted to have was about Dorian, Bull could do that.   Talking about the mage was something Bull liked to do freely, much to Dorian’s dismay and irritation.  To be honest, Dorian’s reaction was what made Bull enjoy doing it in the first place. 

The question hung strangely and Bull decided that the best way to combat it was with humor.

“I’m sure he’s fine, unless Blackwall has finally had enough of his lip and has him bound and gagged in some closet somewhere, which, I have to admit, is a look that really suits him.” Bull let out a dry chuckle.

“That is not what I meant.”

Well, humor wasn’t going to work.

Bull sighed. “Of course it’s not. You might have to be a little bit more specific with your question, then.”

He knew a conversation about Dorian could get tricky.  This night had made things strange.  Earlier that morning, Bull had woken up to Dorian asleep at his side.  Bull remembered the way Dorian looked, curled up against his huge frame, the blankets catching at his hips, his bronze skin speckled by morning sun, his mouth slack with sleep. He was so fucking beautiful.

But the morning seemed far away now.  Things had changed the moment Sera took their objects and hid them.  It had brought up thoughts and feelings and secrets that Bull had taken care to not acknowledge, and he was sure Dorian had done the same. There were lines that Bull and Dorian hadn’t crossed yet and things not yet… discussed, and Sera’s meddling had brought those realizations bubbling to the surface.

“Like two pieces of different puzzles… a cruel punch line to a joke… questions questioning without answers answering… what does it all mean, if anything at all…”

“Ya, that isn’t really helping the ‘be more specific’ problem,” Bull grunted.

Sera’s room was lit by a candle inside a hanging birdcage and the flickering light would catch in the reflections of the many windows, creating movement all around Bull. It made him uneasy.

He watched the door carefully as Cole took a long pause, as if trying to simplify the ideas. Bull leaned back into the pillows, folding his arms against his chest, waiting for his opponent to make his move.

Finally, Cole asked another question. “Do you love Dorian?”

“I… don’t know.”

It was an honest answer. There was no love under the Qun. The idea of love was foreign, but simple in his understanding.  He had known people who claimed to be in love and he had even heard of Tal-Vashoth who had left the Qun for it.  He knew it to be powerful, unyielding, and even terrifying.  Anything that made a person defy reason and regulation so irresponsibly had to be terrifying.  If he was in love with Dorian, would he even know it?  He didn’t know what he felt for Dorian, but he knew he felt… _something_.  Something that was not like what he felt for other people he had had sex with.

“I can feel the way you look at him,” Cole said, interrupting Bull’s thoughts.  “You care for him… You want to protect him and you also feel protected… it is a safety that goes both ways…”

“Yes.” It wasn’t really a question, but Bull felt the need to answer it.

“Why don’t you tell Dorian that you care for him?”

Bull rubbed the back of his neck, not sure how to explain.  “It’s… complicated.  What Dorian and I do is uncomplicated.  We have fun.” The understatement made Bull grin. He couldn’t help himself.

When Bull had first started flirting with Dorian, he knew that Dorian’s curiosities would eventually get the better of him.  If Bull hadn’t been Ben-Hassrath, he might have missed Dorian’s subtle sideways glances or how cautiously he answered Bull’s questions.  Dorian was good at subtlety, probably from years of having to be. But, to a well-trained eye like Bull’s, all of those tiny gestures might as well have been carved into the mountains to read, and it was only a matter of time until Dorian followed Bull up to his room after a couple too many drinks.  It hadn’t been a surprise.

What did take Bull by surprise was when Dorian came back.  And again. And again.  Dorian continued to come back, until Bull stopped being surprised and started to expect it.  Bull couldn’t put a finger on the moment when exactly _he_ became _we_ , or when Dorian stopped slinking off in the middle of the night and Bull’s bed became _their_ bed.

But whatever was happening, Bull was enjoying himself.  He had wanted it, wanted to see what Dorian looked like in the morning, wanted Dorian to feel protected and safe, wanted it _all_. But that’s how it became complicated. Even though things had been moving in some sort of direction, they had always moved under Dorian’s will. Dorian was restrained, guarded, a man who overthought and over-felt too often.  Even though Bull wanted Dorian, he was content with the relationship Dorian had established, whatever it was.  Bull never asked anything from him; afraid of asking something Dorian would be unable to give.

“Complicated means someone can get hurt,” Bull said, closing his eye.  He could almost hear the sounds of The Chargers chattering away just below him, distant and muffled through the floorboards.

Someone can get hurt. _Dorian_ can get hurt.

“Or stop the hurt,” Cole chided.  Bull forced a smile at the sentiment, but Cole didn’t know any better.  The spirit didn’t see all the pieces like Bull did. Bull was the one who watched Dorian sneak away each night and had witnessed the confused crease that would form between his eyebrows when Bull kissed him without the aid of alcohol or the promise of sex.

“I don’t think he wants to talk about it,” Bull stated, flatly. 

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think he wants me to.”

Dorian was fragile, as much as he pretended not to be, and was constantly in a state of either fleeing or breaking, and sometimes Bull couldn’t decide which would hurt more to see.

“He is… scared.” Cole’s voice lilted, as if repeating something he had heard. 

Bull squeezed his eye shut, his brow knitting tightly.  He was glad the kid couldn’t see his face through the door, but something told him that he was still probably listening intently.

Bull hated hearing that Dorian was scared of him.  He had tried to create a safe place for Dorian.  Sure, the mage had used the safe word Bull had given him couple of times- predictably when things became intimate- but when Bull stopped, Dorian came back. Dorian shouldn’t be scared of him. And maybe it wasn’t The Bull Dorian was scared of, but still, the thought of Bull doing that to him-

“In bed, holding me… my lungs on fire for him, his mouth on mine, on my skin… tingling, teetering, tantalizing… he is inside me and I come alive… we fit together so perfectly, but when that’s over…”

Those thoughts were not Bull’s and his heart stuttered when he realized that they weren’t. Cole didn’t finish the thought. Bull suspected it was because Dorian hadn’t finished the thought yet himself.

“You shouldn’t tell me those things,” Bull sighed, the incompleteness of Dorian’s thoughts and feelings boring into Bull with the uncertainty the mage felt.

“But they are about you.” Cole’s voice sounded confused.

“They are supposed to be private.  Just for Dorian.”

“But… he _wants_ to share them with you.”

Another hitch in his breath. “That doesn’t matter.”

The sound of shouting suddenly rang from outside, through the windows, and Bull turned. He couldn’t really see what had caused it, pitch blackness creating a wall behind the glass panes. He could see flashes, like magic, and hear laughter. He had been distracted by the conversation and had almost forgotten about the world outside. Hopefully, the conversation was almost over and he’d be out soon.

But then what? Was Sera just going to give him back his object?  Or was she going to force more clues and pranks on him?  The idea of dealing with more traps was annoying, but worth it for the promise of freedom, especially since the air in the small room was beginning to get stuffy.

“You do not know his object, yet you do not ask.  Why?”

Bull tilted his head; suspicious that Cole is listening to his thoughts again, knowing he had just thought about getting his object back.  He hated when the spirit did that.  It was… unnerving.

Bull shrugged, maintaining the casual tone in his voice.  “It isn’t my business to ask.”

“Isn’t it?”

“If he wanted me to know, he could tell me. I won’t force him.”

That was true. Bull would rather take an arrow to his good eye than force Dorian to do something he didn’t want to do.

“Why do you not tell him what Sera took from you, then?”  The way Cole asked questions reminded Bull of a child.  It was a good reminder that Cole wasn’t purposefully trying to ask questions that were difficult.

“It’s difficult to explain,” Bull answered.  “And I don’t think he’ll understand.”

“But it makes you hurt.” Cole’s voice came so earnest, so endearing, that it forced Bull to smile.

“Thanks , kid. But I’m fine.  Dorian will tell me what his object is if he wants, but it’s fine if he doesn’t want to.  No use getting all weepy about it.”

There was a pause. “That was not what I meant.”

Bull frowned, confused. He wasn’t sure what the kid meant. Bull had been honest with his answers, but had answered them in a way to steer the conversation to what Bull suspected Sera wanted.  They had been talking about Dorian, Dorian’s fears and needs.  Cole could understand that Dorian didn’t have to tell Bull about his object, right?  It was fine.

“What about Dorian?” Cole asked.

“What _about_ him?”  Bull’s voice edged towards a growl.

If Cole was fishing for something different, Bull didn’t know what it was.  He could hear the spirit drawing slow, paced breaths on the other side of the door.

“It’s all connected…,” the voice sang.  “Dorian, The Iron Bull, The Inquisition, The Qun… tangled, like a knot in your head… a great big _something_ that is being so carefully avoided…”

The Bull scratched at the scruff on his cheek, more out of impatience than anything. He stood and slowly began to pace, but the room was so small that he really only took two steps in one direction before having to turn around and take two back.

The kid was skirting, but around what? Bull hated not being able to see the next move.  It made him itch. It was like the question was right in front of him and he just couldn’t see-

“You’re a good man.”

The voice was so quiet Bull almost didn’t catch it.  He stopped, mid-step, frozen.  “What?”

“That’s what she said,” Cole answered.  “You keep thinking about it… over and over, repeating.  You’re a good man.”

And like that, it came back. The Dreadnought, The Inquisitor, The Chargers.  Things he didn’t want to think about, _couldn’t_ allow himself to think about.

It was like yesterday. He asked the boss to meet him on the walls, knowing that the assassins would attack.  He had crushed them like the amateur vermin they were. That’s where the words first settled on his tongue, bitter and terrible.  _Tal-Va-fucking-shoth_. And as if trying to help ease the pain, his boss, his Inquisitor, with her green eyes set stubbornly on his one, said those words so determinedly, so sincerely.  _You’re a good man._

She didn’t know what that meant.  How could she? Bull didn’t even know.

Bull caught his footing in reality, suddenly realizing he had stopped his breath.  “Don’t,” he growled.  “Don’t go poking around in my head.”

“You have pushed it away…” Cole said.  “Other things, _bigger_ things to help you push… kill the ‘vints, kill the demons, kill Corypheus… all helping you forget those words, pretend like they weren’t there…”

“Kid, I don’t want to talk about this.”  He could feel the heat rising in his chest.  He clenched and unclenched his hands.

Bull decided to not deal with it until Corypheus was taken care of, but now… he still didn’t want to think about it.  Didn’t want to think about the horrible thing he didn’t do, the thing that later had made his boss call him 'a good man'.

“But now you can’t pretend anymore… later is now, and now came from if and when… all along they were chasing you and now they have finally caught up…”

He didn’t give the order. When the Venatori closed in and The Chargers needed to retreat.  He was caught between the Qun and his men, obeying orders or giving up everything that had ever defined him.  Caught in indecision and he couldn’t even give the orders to save them. The boss did. _She_ told him to pull them back.  They would have died, because of him, and then she called him ‘a good man’.

Bull had always had the Qun, he relied on that structure, those rules, and now he was what he feared most. Tal-Vashoth.  And the boss thought it was okay because he was ‘a good man’.  Would a good man have let his men die?  Or would a good man disobey his orders?  He _cared_ about his men and they would have died in his indecision.  And now, he cared about Dorian and what if-

_No, no, no. Don’t think about it._

But, he had to think about it, didn’t he?  Those words, haunting him.  _You’re a good man._ But, what about Dorian?

_What about Dorian?_

The question broke over Bull like a wave.  He was snarling, his knuckles white and his muscles twitching.  It felt like the walls were closing in on him, slowly suffocating him, burying him in the words that Cole picked from his brain, from the truth.  He had to leave before they trapped him.

Bull reached for the door and yanked it.  It screeched, coming free from its hinges, and Bull tossed it aside, knocking over Sera’s bookshelf with a crash.  The collision hit the hanging birdcage, causing it to swing violently, casting shadows behind Iron Bull’s heaving figure.  Cole was still sitting on the barrel, glossy eyes confused but focused.

“No more talking,” Bull snarled.

The Qunari marched past the spirit, but Cole was right on his heels, following him, still speaking.

“You’re a good man… what does that mean… how could she know, she doesn’t know, no one can know when I don’t even know…”

Bull’s heart was racing. He couldn’t go down stairs. The thought of seeing The Chargers right now, looking at their faces, was too much.  Bull moved towards the ascending staircase.

Cole continued, voice in Bull’s ear.  “I didn’t give the call… watching, waiting…  Hissrad, Ben-Hassrath, The Iron Bull, Tal-Vashoth… all names, all me and yet aren’t me… all of me would have watched them die…”

Bull wanted to swat the voice away, but he couldn’t.  Not when it was feeding straight from the sinking feeling in his heart.  The noises that came from downstairs were a blur. Bull tried to walk faster, get away from it still, but Cole was right behind him.

“Didn’t give the call… You’re a good man… running with no ground, building with no foundation… pulling, yanking, crunching, falling…”

Bull ran up the stairs, breathing heavy.  He squeezed his eye shut, but they were still there- his boss, The Chargers, and now, Dorian.

“The names that are me…. If she really knew me, if _he_ really knew me… but who am I… I let them die…”

If he could just make it to his room...

“I let them die… and next I’ll hurt _him_ … not a good man- _“_

It was too much. The pressure welled up inside Bull’s chest.  He could feel it all, everything he had tried to keep locked away; anguish, regret, fear, shame, all of it came bubbling to the surface, suffocating him and squeezing his chest. He swung out his fist as hard as he could towards those glassy eyes, that mouth that kept talking. Just make it stop; stop the pain, the feelings, the words.  Bull’s fist barreled towards Cole’s face and made contact with the tavern’s stone wall, cracking the rocks where his knuckles made contact.

Cole had vanished before Bull could strike him, leaving the Qunari to fall against the broken wall in silence, nursing his bloody knuckles and desperately trying to come to his senses.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some notes:
> 
> I took some liberties with the story (very minor ones, but they're still there). The "You're a good man" dialogue comes from the romance dialogue option when the Inquisitor is on the wall with Bull after his personal quest. I know that the Lavellan in the story isn't romancing Bull but I hope this is forgivable. (Also, I'm going to take more liberties in the future with another characters romance storyline but I promise not to venture too far off the canon path)
> 
> Also, writing angsty Bull was super hard, thus the reason why this chapter took so long for me to write. Plus, I don't like seeing my baby so broken :( 
> 
> Finally, I hope that this chapter has driven all of you trying to guess what the stolen objects are completely mad. Don't worry! You will find out VERY soon.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. More angst and fluffy feel good moments ahead!


	12. Too Much and Yet Not Enough

Why was the Blighted gate left open?  One second it was closed and then it wasn’t.  Blackwall watched as the Hart dashed down the stairs and through the gate, out into the open world.  He was sure Sera had opened it, but how?  And in that short amount of time?  It seemed impossible, but this _was_ Sera…

Also, where were all the guards? Surely, Cullen had left a guard rotation posted before he left.  Blackwall decided they must have taken the Commander’s absence as an opportunity to skirt their responsibilities and celebrate Corypheus’ defeat properly.

“Next time I see that meddling elfy wench, I swear,” he growled under his breath, running after the Hart. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he did see Sera.  She couldn’t hide from him forever; eventually their paths would cross.  And when they did, he couldn’t really hurt her, at least not _really_.  She had forced him to do some pretty horrible things tonight, things he would have never willingly done, so at the very least she deserved a good headlock and shaking. Nothing too bad, but enough to get the point across that he was annoyed with her.

Catching the Hart wasn’t difficult, once it had finally stopped running.  The beast made it across the bridge, its hooves clattering across the stones loudly. It had gone as far as making it to the other side and down into the valley, Blackwall huffing and puffing behind it. Eventually, the Hart stopped by a patch of grass to graze, allowing Blackwall to finally catch up.

“Easy boy,” Blackwall coaxed, slowly stepping nearer and panting.  “Please, don’t take off running again.  I’m getting too old for this kind of stuff.”

The Hart flicked its ears, watching him through lidded eyes, completely unconcerned as the man approached. Blackwall put a hand on the beast’s backside, feeling the strong muscles twitch under its fur. He did have to admit, Lavellan’s Hart was a beautiful creature.  He personally preferred horses for himself, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate how strong and elegant the great horned beast was.  He had heard Lavellan give him a name in Elvish, but he could never remember what it was.  He wished he could remember.  The Hart always seemed to respond to Lavellan when she used it.

Blackwall looped the rope he brought around its neck and tied it securely.  The Hart didn’t even seem to notice, or mind, and continued to graze peacefully. Blackwall was sure that the Hart had only run away in the first place because of Dorian.  It was obvious to everyone that Dorian hated the animals, and Blackwall wouldn’t be surprised if the creatures knew it as well. Dorian and nature never mixed together. He was always complaining about something, whether it was the climate, or the bugs, or sleeping on the hard ground. Which only made Dorian’s friendship with the Inquisitor seem stranger, since he was repulsed by nature and everything about her, from the way she walked and talked to the way she held her gaze and breathed, emulated it.  It made Blackwall believe that Dorian didn’t hate nature as much as he let on, but simply found satisfaction in complaining about things. 

Still, Lavellan had made sure to not bring him on long excursions to the Hissing Wastes, mindful of Dorian’s temperaments.  Thinking about it, it was probably a good thing that he was the one that chased the mount through the mountains and not Dorian. If it had been the mage running through the wilderness in the dark, he was sure he would have never heard the end of it.

Blackwall tied the rope around a stump and took the envelope from around the Hart’s neck.  He sat on the ground beside it, slowly catching his breath from the running.  The constrictive nature of the dress against his chest didn’t make it easier, and he resorted to tearing off both sleeves and making a rip down the front of the bodice from his neckline.  The instant relief was gratifying.

The Hart chose a good place to stop, allowing Blackwall a nice view of Ferelden between two great mountainsides. The world was still very dark, but the stars above shown brightly, like shimmering black water hanging over the earth.

After catching his breath, Blackwall turned his attention to the envelope in his hand. He frowned slightly when he noticed his name largely printed across the front.  He ripped it open and to his surprise, multiple folded parchments came out into his hands.  His stomach sank horribly when he saw that they were covered in words, lots and lots of words.  If this was a giant word problem he knew he would never be able to solve it, and he began to wish he had waited to find Dorian first.  But the papers didn’t contain a word problem.  Instead, they contained a very simple message.

 

WHEN YOU’VE GOT YOUR HEAD AS FAR UP YOUR ARSE AS YOU DO

YOU MISS A LOT OF SHITE

HERE’S A REMINDER

 

What followed was a long and detailed list.  At first the list didn’t make much sense.  Sera seemed to be giving examples of actions and events, most of which didn’t really correlate to one another.

 

HELPING TO REPAIR THE TABLE THAT THE IRON BULL BROKE AT THE TAVERN

SHARING YOUR RATIONS WITH ME AFTER I ALREADY ATE ALL OF MINE (SORRY ‘BOUT THAT)

TAKING A BLOW MEANT FOR DORIAN WHILE FIGHTING THOSE ARSEHOLES ON THE STORM COAST

 

As Blackwall read each sentence, he realized that it was a list of _his_ actions, things he had done since joining the Inquisition. Detailed and thorough, the list seemed to disclose events from when he first joined to things that had occurred only a few days ago.  There were obvious ones like,

 

HELPING TO STOP CORYPHE-WHAT’S-HIS-FACE

SAVING THE GREY WARDENS

TURNING YOURSELF IN AS THOM RAINIER

 

But then, there were also not so obvious ones, like,

 

HELPING THE SERVANTS AT THE WINTER PALACE

GIVING CASSANDRA YOUR LAST HEALING POTION WHEN YOU ALSO NEEDED IT

ALWAYS TAKING THE FIRST WATCH AT CAMP WHEN EVERYONE IS JUST AS TIRED AS YOU

GIVING YOUR BED ROLL TO THAT LITTLE ORPHAN GIRL IN THE EMPRISE DU LION (AND THEN NOT COMPLAINING WHEN YOU SPENT THE REST OF THE TRIP WITHOUT ONE)

 

The list continued on and on and Blackwall read each thing he had done, some things not even significant enough to remember.  Deed after deed, almost like a complete history of his works for the Inquisition, all recorded on these pieces of parchment that he now held and read in the darkness. At the very end of the list, it read:

 

YOU MIGHT BE A STUPID TIT, BUT AT LEAST YOU’RE A WORTHY ONE.

 

Blackwall’s chest tightened. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.  His face had turned red under his beard, unsure if he felt embarrassed or something else. Touched? 

It didn’t seem like a very Sera thing to do, to write a long list of good deeds that he had done, many of which he had forgotten about himself.  Had she been working on this list in her head while she was cracking out crude jokes and shooting arrows as they ventured around Thedas together?  Had she watched him in silence doing these things, slowly adding to his bank of deeds that suddenly were supposed to mean something?

His eyes fluttered up towards the skyline, the valley sprawling out and into the lower lands of Ferelden, framed by the sides of the mountains.  The sky above was velvet and black still, but where it met the land was slowly turning a crisp blue color. It would be dawn in a couple of hours, and the sun would come crawling into the sky, casting light through the mountain peeks and over everything.  It was beautiful.  The view from Skyhold was always a good reminder that the world wasn’t as big as it felt sometimes. They were all a part of it, all a part of the same earth, the same air.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that, to see people as different. But from up above, perched in the mountains, everyone below looked the same.

For a long time he sat in silence, no words, no thoughts, just silence.  He left his eyes on the horizon, but let his thumbs trail over the writing on the pages. He could feel the fine grooves of where Sera had scribbled the words with a quill, pressing firmly and deliberately so he could receive her message.

And what was her message? She had forced him to infiltrate Josephine’s bedroom, made him wear a dress, had him chase Lavellan’s mount halfway down the mountain, and now was giving him a list of his good deeds? It didn’t quite make sense. He was sure she had some sort of explanation in the mixed-up elfy head of hers, but this last clue had hit Blackwall like a blow to the face.  He never saw it coming and had no idea what Sera’s game was at this point.

But, despite the previous events, this new clue didn’t feel malicious.  Blackwall didn’t feel like a target to Sera’s cruel pranks.  This list, it felt like a message from a friend, something she wanted him to see but didn’t know how to tell him.

As much as he wanted to be grateful to Sera for caring, a piece of him could not accept the things she had written. He had done those things, every single one of them, but those actions on this list felt like a lie. He had done many of those things specifically to atone for his sins.  Being a good man was not the same as pretending to be a good man. Giving his bedding to the child because he thought of the dead Callier children when he saw that dirtied little desperate face was not worthy of praise.  Neither was turning himself in for the crimes he had committed in the first place.

And as much as he didn’t believe that the things on this list made him a man worthy of salvation, he couldn’t bring himself to completely disregard their worth, not anymore. Because things had changed. He wasn’t the same man he was when he first joined the Inquisition or even when he stepped forward as Thom Rainier. Yes, he still carried his demons on his back, but they didn’t haunt him like they used to. 

This change started the moment his Inquisitor looked at him as Thom Rainier and saved him.  Actually, she had started saving him the moment she picked him up in the Hinterlands and asked him to follow her.  He had witnessed her determination, her compassion, her goodness first hand and it had inspired him.  Lavellan was… she was… was more than Blackwall had words to describe. He could say that he would die for her and that he trusted her more than he trusted himself, but somehow that didn’t seem enough.  She made him want to be a better man, simply because she was so effortlessly honest and good. She never faltered in her decision to help those who needed it, offering aid to refugees and wanting to free those who had been oppressed.  It seemed like no task was too small for her to take care of personally. When a refugee would come to them, Lavellan would meet them with such tenderness and patience, listening to their problem and then promising to help.  And she did.  Every time. Whether it was carrying flowers to a grave or returning a lost druffalo, no task seemed too small or unimportant in her eyes.  Because each and every person she met mattered.

And so when she found him, the real him, Thom Rainier, in the Orlesian cell awaiting his execution, he shouldn’t have been surprised when she took any means necessary to get him back to Skyhold. He had been angry. He remembered how angry he had been and felt shame for it now, because she was only showing him the same kindness she showed for everyone.  He hadn’t understood why she was protecting him.  He didn’t deserve it.  He had finally been ready to pay for what he did, and she took that away from him. 

He remembered his trial like it was yesterday. He remembered how the chains felt on his wrists, and even though they were tight and chaffing, they couldn’t compare to the pain he felt in his chest when Josephine looked at him. The Inquisitor was sitting in her throne, framed by the Inquisition’s sunbeam.  She had used Leliana’s contacts to bring him to Skyhold and he spat venomous words at her, trying to wound her for plucking him from his fate. He had stared up into her delicate face, and where he had expected to see the same judgment and disgust he felt for himself, he was met with compassion.  Her vallaslin, which branched across her fair forehead, was puckered where her eyebrows met with concern.  She cared for him. Despite everything he deserved, she cared.  And it disgusted him. How could someone so good and kind care for him, when he was such a monster?

He didn’t want it, didn’t deserve it, but she gave him his freedom.  She believed in him.  She wanted him to use his life to right his wrongs, and she inspired him enough to attempt to do so. Every day became his mission, to live up to the life that the Inquisitor had given him and become the man that she thought he was.

If he had received this list before, before he had started his change, he would have thrown it into the dirt with disgust.  But now… he couldn’t. Something inside him wouldn’t let him toss it aside and regard it as a misconstrued attempt at making him feel better. It was more than that, more than the sum of its words.  He gripped Sera’s list tightly in his hands, afraid it might fall from his fingers on accident. He desperately wanted to believe the words on the paper, he did, and even though he couldn’t yet, he had hope that maybe someday he could.  And that was more than he had had in a long time.

He felt it welling up inside him, warming his heart and his face, making him catch at the air in his lungs. It was all too much, and yet not enough. Sera was a friend to him, despite her nasty meddling.  She had been the one to approve the most of the Inquisitor’s decision for his freedom and even though she would never say the words, he knew that every time she called him ‘a stupid tit’ it was from a place of endearment.  This list was proof enough, more than enough.  But, there was something else…

It all seemed very… purposeful. Why this note? Why take his ring? Did Sera know how the two connected, how clearly everything in Blackwall’s life was tangled into his self-deprecating circle of torment and guilt and shame?  She had to have known, like she seemed to know about everything.  And earlier that night, she had claimed she wanted to help.  What was this helping?

It felt like Sera wasn’t just giving him this message as a reminder of who he was then and who he was now. There was a piece of the message that he still didn’t have.  Blackwall didn’t think himself a particularly clever man, and it unnerved him to think that the final piece of Sera’s message was dangling right in front of his nose, unseen…

“If I had known I would have found you just sitting around I might have taken my time trying to find you.” The voice came so softly from behind, Blackwall was surprised that he hadn’t jumped in fright.

“Dorian,” Blackwall grunted the greeting, refusing to look behind him.

Dorian came and sat next to Blackwall, hiking his skirt and smoothing it to sit on it comfortably. The mage looked flushed and his hair lacked its usual luster, falling slightly onto his forehead. The bottom of Dorian’s skirt was caked with mud and leaves.  Blackwall imagined Dorian had probably been searching for him for a while and picturing how Dorian’s face might have looked when he realized that Blackwall and the Hart had been set loose into the world teased a grin onto his face.

“I see you made some improvements to your wardrobe,” the mage said, eyeing the ripped remains of the yellow fabric that still clung to Blackwall’s chest.  “And caught the vermin.” 

The Hart was lying contently in the grass, its great horned head tucked neatly by its legs.

“With some effort, thanks to you,” Blackwall sighed.  He assumed Dorian had taken care of the Dracolisk before coming to find him.

“It’s not my fault the stupid thing couldn’t tell I meant it no harm.”  Dorian grimaced at the Hart before noticing the papers in Blackwall’s hands. “Is that our next clue?” He asked.

“No,” Blackwall said, folding them and tucking them into the breast of his shirt under the dress. “It’s for me.”

“What did it say?”

“It’s a reminder.”

Dorian nodded slowly, as if he understood. “I hope it’s a reminder to bathe more regularly. You could use it, especially after tonight’s exertion."

Blackwall chuckled. “Something like that.”

It felt strange to have Dorian here beside him, after all of the emotions Sera’s list had stirred. The unchanged Blackwall might have been annoyed by the intrusion on his solitude, but the new Blackwall felt oddly comforted having someone to share it with.  He didn’t feel the need to tell what the clue had said, per say, but just knowing Dorian was sitting beside him, staring off into the same valley, was enough.

“If my count is correct,” Dorian continued, “we are still missing one more mount.  And with the gate left open, it could be anywhere in Thedas by now.”

Blackwall grunted. It could take hours before they even located it, and by then they could be so tired that they would never even catch it if it-

A snorting sound and the breaking of twigs came from behind them, causing both men to whirl around while sitting. Lavellan’s Nuggalope was staring at them with beady black eyes, tilting its horned head.  It waved its snout, snorting loudly.  A large number ‘2’ was painted on its backside.

The Nuggalope trotted over, carefully kneaded the ground behind Dorian and Blackwall, before plopping on the soft earth. It needily pressed its head between the men, resting its chin on a very disgusted Dorian’s lap, looking up hopefully at him. Dorian let out a whimper, holding his hands closely against his chest.  As if sensing Dorian’s discomfort, the Nuggalope rolled to position its head on Blackwall’s lap.  The men exchanged a glance.

“Huh,” Dorian frowned. “I honestly expected that to be much more difficult.”

When Blackwall began to scratch the tender pink flesh behind its ears, the Nuggalope snorted happily.

“Just be grateful something this night actually came easily.”  Blackwall smiled, the pieces of parchment weighing softly against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your Blackwall feels.


	13. The Result of Not Doing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes DA2 storyline with Bartrand and male mage Hawke.
> 
> Also cursing. LOTS of cursing.

“All right, enough wasting time.  Let’s see what this bad boy’s got for us.”  Varric said, ripping the envelope in his hand.  Cassandra swayed softly on the log beside him.  Varric was pretty sure that the Seeker wasn’t aware that she was quietly humming to herself.  The thought made him grin.

He squinted in the darkness, trying to use the faint starlight to read the note.  He read it out loud, for Cassandra to hear.

 

THE NEXT CLUE IS FAR AWAY, FAR UPON A BOAT

OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LAKE IS WHERE THE BOAT DOES FLOAT

YOU MUST GET YOUR CLUE AND DO IT FAST, BEFORE THE MOON DOES SET

BUT NOW I THINK ITS BOUT DAMN TIME TO GET THOSE TOES-IES WET

 

Varric’s heart sank.

“Toes-ies wet?” Cassandra slurred. “Does Sera want us to swim out to the next clue?”

“I…” Varric murmured. “I guess so.”  A knot had formed in his stomach, heavy and terrible.

“Do you think it could be a joke?  I don’t even see a boat.” Cassandra glared out into the darkness, but the fog was thick over the surface of the water and shielded anything that might be hidden out there.

Varric shrugged, but was sure Cassandra didn’t see him.  It didn’t seem to matter, because the next moment Cassandra was slipping off her boots.

“I guess, there’s only one way to find out,” she said, her face serious, but her cheeks still tinged pink. “I really must be drunker than I thought.  If she wants us to make bigger fools of ourselves, so be it.”

She began loosing the laces and buttons of her cuffs.  Varric, on the other hand, didn’t move.  He didn’t watch her either, didn’t dare.  Instead, he looked out into the fog, his jaw set tightly.

“Do you plan on spending the rest of your night with wet clothes, Varric?”  She teased, her tone only slightly lighter than her usual stern one.  But it made all the difference.  “You spend all of your time exposing your chest, seems foolish for you to be shy now.” Cassandra’s fingers moved to the buckle on her pants, loosing it and tugging it free slowly.

“I, uh… I can’t…”

“What?”

“I can’t-“

“Can’t what?”

“I… can’t swim.”

The words sounded so small. Cassandra stopped removing her clothes to stare at him.  He could feel her eyes, and glanced up to meet them.

“What?” She asked again.

“I don’t know how to swim,” Varric winced.  “I can’t do it.”

Cassandra blinked at him, and then began to giggle.  She bent over, bracing herself with a hand on the log as she laughed.  The sound echoed in the valley around them.

Varric swallowed hard. “Not the reaction I was expecting, Seeker.  If I’m being honest.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said between giggles, waving her hands defensively.  “I promise I’m not laughing at you.  I just… didn’t expect it.  It makes sense though, in a way.  I suppose most dwarves wouldn’t know how.”

“I mean, we aren’t exactly built for it, short arms and legs and all that.  But some surface dwarves learn.  I just never got around to it, I guess.”

Varric looked out at the lake. Except for the occasional ripples, the surface of the black water looked so solid, like he could step out and walk right across it.  But he knew he couldn’t.  Just imaging sinking down into the cold abyss like a stone, unable to reach the surface, tightened the knot in his stomach so much it hurt.

Varric wasn’t shy when it came to admitting when things made him uneasy.  He had openly admitted what he thought about the Fade or weird magic crap, and especially about his hatred of red lyrium.  But admitting that the lake made him afraid, genuinely fearful, made him feel slightly ashamed.  To be hindered by something as small and harmless as water seemed a terrible weakness to confess.

Cassandra pulled at her sleeves. “Well, looks like I’ll have to retrieve the next clue for us.”

“And I’ll…”

“Wait here.”

“Right.”

Cassandra pulled her shirt up over her head and laid it down on the log before drunkenly stepping out of her pants.  She didn’t strip down to her smalls, but down to her under shirt and leggings, which were surprisingly thin and tight.

“Don’t stare.” She snapped at him. Varric didn’t realize he had been. He quickly looked away, but glanced back soon after.  Cassandra was actually surprisingly… something.  It was hard to remember that she was a woman under all that armor and blustering, but now she hid nothing.  She was all soft curves and lean muscle, pink cheeks and disheveled short hair.

She shivered slightly in the cold and caught Varric staring again, but this time didn’t snap. She smirked, and clumsily made her way to the water’s edge.

“It’s better this way, if you think about it.  Now you can watch my clothes and make sure Sera doesn’t steal them,” she said over her shoulder, holding her arms tightly across her breasts.  “I told you not to stare.  And don’t laugh at me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Varric chuckled, dryly.  Typical Seeker form, demanding and nagging and unable to help herself.

Cassandra eased a foot in, and immediately withdrew it.  “OH! HO HO HO! It’s freezing!”  She shouted, dancing from foot to foot, the rocks under her feet clattering and spilling back into the water.

“Still not laughing at you.”

“Good.” She gave a smile.

Cassandra took a deep breath, and ran out into the water with a huge splash, diving under as quickly as she could and with about as much grace as he expected from a severely drunk woman. Varric watched as her head went under and resurfaced, panting and cursing the cold.

“Maker’s _breath_!”  She gasped, spitting water from her mouth.

“You okay?” He asked, raising his voice. She was far away, but still visible. A head bobbing on the surface of the water.

Her teeth were chattering loudly. “I’m drunk.  I’m wet.  I’m cold and without of my clothes.”

“You’re still complaining, so that’s a good sign.”

She kicked up her feet, splashing water towards the shore and at Varric.  She managed to splatter the log, and Varric almost fell over backwards, trying to avoid it.

“Hey, hey, easy! I was only kidding,” he laughed.

She stopped, a proud look on her face.  “I’ll go as quickly as I can,” she called to him.  “Do not leave me.”

“I won’t.” He called back.

She paused to give him a stern look, as if not quite sure whether or not to trust him, before stroking her way out into the water and fog.  Varric could still hear her splashing for a long time after he had lost her in the fog. Eventually, the splashes became fainter, and Varric was left alone in silence.

The silence was deafening. And the night, the night had been a strange one.  Varric wasn’t sure how it had all happened.  One moment, the Seeker was sitting next to him, talking and actually sharing things, actually opening up like a real human being for once, and he found himself enjoying the conversation and her company, and then, it was done.  Just, over.  She was out in the middle of that lake and he was stuck on the shore doing nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. Just like Cassandra had accused him of doing earlier.

Varric pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as that conversation came swimming forward in his mind. Her voice, how angry she had been.

_Because that’s what you do.  You do nothing and survive. Let someone else stand-up, let someone else take the fall.  The world is filled with people like you, Varric.  Ones who let the others ‘do’, while you just survive.  And I can’t always be the person to take action when you won’t._

Had there been actually some truth in there?  He wasn’t exactly proving her wrong at the moment.  But, it wasn’t like he didn’t want to help.  He couldn’t change the fact that he couldn’t swim.  Wasn’t his fault.  Right?

He hated thinking about it, thinking about all this angsty crap.  But the silence seemed to force it in his brain.  Maybe, he was getting used to thinking that things weren’t his fault, when they were. Maybe he had been so close to it, he never even saw there was a problem-

“Companion, sidekick, extra, spare… twining together, meaning everything, meaning nothing… from her mouth, hurting me… from their mouths, hurting more… is she right, has she always been right, has she always known me better than I know myself?”

Cole suddenly appeared beside Varric on the log, out of thin air, causing the dwarf to jump and fall over backwards onto the rocky ground.  Sharp rocks jabbed into his spine and the back of his head struck the ground hard.

“FUCK! OW! Maker’s balls! _Fuck_ , kid!”  Varric gasped in fright, clutching his chest with one hand and picking himself off the ground with the other. “You can’t keep doin’ that!”

Cole watched Varric stand in confusion.  “I am sorry, Varric.”

Varric’s heart was beating crazily against the cage in his chest.  “What are you even doing here?”  His voice was sharp, and he could see Cole recoil from it. 

“I could hear you. You sounded upset.” The kid’s voice came out small.

“I’m fine, kid. You don’t need to worry ‘bout little ol’ me. The heart attack didn’t help though.”

“You were thinking about what Cassandra said.  About not being a stand-up man.”

Varric sighed. “Ya.”  He rubbed at the back of his neck and took a seat next to the kid. “No use trying to hide anything from you, I suppose.”

“No. No use.”  Cole gave a small smile, but he looked unsure.

Varric looked around the alcove; suddenly realizing it was just the two of them there. “Hey, where’s Tiny? I thought you two were teammates.”

Cole starred hard at the ground.  “We are. Or were.  Or both.”  The kid’s voice carried a stranger lilt than usual.

Varric arched an eyebrow. “You gonna give me the details?”

Cole refused to look at Varric as he spoke, and it reminded the dwarf of a guilty mabari. “Sera told me to not let him out until he talked about it.  He didn’t want to talk about it.  The Iron Bull is very mad… anger, shame… at no one, at everyone, at himself… I couldn’t, I didn’t… a monster… building until bursting and he couldn’t hold it in anymore… hurt rushing out of him… so fast, so scary, so relentless…  he tried to hit me-“

“What!” Varric blurted, causing alarm to stretch over Cole’s face.  “You okay, kid?”

He nodded, but hesitantly. “I am okay.  I left before he could.  But he is not okay.  I fear I might have made it worse.”

It seemed hard to imagine. Varric had never seen Bull lose his cool before.  The Iron Bull was a man of reason and order, always had been.  Even when he was at it, hacking away at a couple of ‘vints they met in The Hissing Wastes, there was an air of composed and skillfully aimed destruction. What could Sera have possibly gotten the kid to drudge up out of him? 

Varric decided he didn’t want to know.  It was Bull’s business, not his.  But, the thought of an angry Qunari, especially one Bull’s size, running around Skyhold, angrily attacking people, didn’t sit well.  It brought back memories of Kirkwall and the Qunari and a certain fight with the Arishock-

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Varric said, flatly. 

“Maybe.” Cole pulled his legs up onto the log, hugging them to his chest.  He rested his chin thoughtfully on his knees, before asking, “But maybe I can help you, instead.”

“Me? I’m flattered, but I don’t need it. I’m downright peachy.” Varric folded his hands behind his head, putting on his best grin.

“You do not have to lie to me, Varric,” Cole said, coolly.  “But I do understand if you have to lie to yourself.”

Varric looked out to the water and waited, searching for any ripples or sounds of splashing, anything to signal Cassandra’s return.  It already felt like she had been gone for a long time.  How long did it take a drunk woman to swim out to the middle of a fog covered lake?

“I’m not lying to anyone. I’m just-“ Varric sighed. “I’m a little worried Cassandra will be pissed when she gets back.  She wasn’t too happy with me earlier and I’d rather not be yelled at again. One scolding is already more than I wanted for tonight.”

“That is what you do… take the back seat… never known you to be a stand-up man… someone has to…” Cole recited Cassandra’s words, as if he had been there in the room with them when it happened.

Varric hated when the kid did creepy shit like that, but not enough to complain about it.  He knew it was just the kid’s way of communicating, weird as it was. But hearing Cassandra’s words a second time only made them seem sharper.

“Ya, that,” Varric answered.

“Cassandra is fine,” Cole’s voice was distant, as if he was trying hard to remember something he had once heard a long time ago.  “She is not thinking about what she said.  She is… cold.” Cole smiled softly into his knees. “And she thinks about her book often. She worries she won’t get it back.”

_Book?_

_Is that what Buttercup took from her?_

Varric bit his tongue. He didn’t ask. It wasn’t his business, even if it made him dreadfully curious. 

“Well, at least she’s not mad,” Varric finally responded.  “The wrath of that woman is truly a frightening thing.” 

Varric had been on the receiving end of that stick more times than he ever wanted to be.  Having Cassandra mad at you was like having a target on your back, putting you in constant danger of having a chair chucked at your head.

“But you are still not convinced,” Cole stated, dreamy and far away.  “There is a part of your mind… Cassandra’s words… seeds in your head, the roots… tangled…” Cole snapped his focus to Varric, fixing those cold eyes on him.  “You are doubting yourself.”

It wasn’t a question, was never meant to be.

“I’m just in my head,” he shrugged. The kid made it sound so dramatic. Varric wasn’t about that. Sure, he had been thinking to himself, but that was all.  No need for concern or theatrics.

“No, I did not mean-“ Cole blinked at him, earnestly.  “It is good to doubt.”

Varric laughed, but it sounded more nervous than he intended.  “Oh? And why is that?”

“I… I see it all the time… in Lavellan, in Cassandra, the others… the doubt and with it, the desire to change. It is a good thing.”

Varric nodded slowly. “What’s the Seeker got to second guess about?” He knew he shouldn’t pry, but he couldn’t help being curious.  This was the first night Varric felt like he had really gotten to know and understand the woman under that Blighted armor.  He knew it was selfish that he wanted to know more, but that had never been a deterrent before. Maybe he could even bring himself to ask what book Cole had been talking about…

Cole began to run a finger along the log, tracing the bark lightly as he spoke.  “Cassandra doubts herself.  I hear her, all the time… in waking, in dreams, eating, fighting, talking… unsure of her actions, her reasons… questioning and questioning, finding the truths about herself… ones she likes, ones that hurt, ones she wants to change… she’s always changing.”

“Sounds like her.”

“Most people do not see her self-doubt as a strength, but it is her best one.”

“One of many,” Varric grinned. He meant it, but only said it because he knew she would never hear it.  Another selfish thing to do.

Cole nodded, the brim of his large hat bobbing in time.  “The doubt is a good thing.  Questions lead to answers, and answers lead to purpose.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it that way.  Bianca has always been a shoot first, ask never kind of gal.  Seems like a waste of time to stop and just think about things.”

“Maybe you should try it.”

“Nah.”

Cole was quiet for a while, as if planning the words he would say next.  Varric hoped it was that, and not just the kid poking around in his head.  Or, maybe, he did hope Cole was poking around up there.  Varric was great at putting other people’s feelings into words, but this self-contemplative shit was beyond him.  It was simpler focusing on other people, watching over them, following them, worrying about the shit in their head-

“You’re a good friend, Varric,” Cole said.  “But you can be more than that.”

Varric could feel his chest tighten and that knot lurked in his gut.  Damn right he was a good friend, but what did the rest of that mean? He was proud to be a good friend, how could he possibly want more than that?  He was the guy that others turned to when they needed some good entertainment, someone to cover their ass in a fight, and a friend to drink the night away with. That was him, always had been him, and he had always been more than willing to provide that role. So, why was the kid suddenly implying it wasn’t enough?

He wasn’t one for getting emotional, but he could feel the kid building up to something. It felt like they were all building up to something; Cassandra, Cole, and Sera, building up to this message that suddenly made Varric feel very targeted. 

Everything was so vague and ominous, ‘be a stand-up man’ and ‘you can be more than that’. It was all too much and so fucked. Up until a couple of hours ago, Varric had been fine.  He had been better than fine.  He was the dwarf that helped the Inquisition save the world, wasn’t he?  Varric Tethras, Head of House Tethras, master of stories and… what? Companion to the Inquisitor? The dwarf that spent his days around Skyhold, waiting for Lavellan to invite him on a quest with her? No, he was more than that. He had to be.

He had been there, had fought along side his friends.  When was that not considered enough?  Sure, he didn’t choose to be there when the Conclave was destroyed, but that didn’t matter, did it?  He stayed and helped.

Why was he even worrying about this?  Varric stayed far away from this kind of shit.  He lived in the present, in the now.  Thinking about all of these ‘then’s’ and ‘could have’s’ weren’t like him.

Varric stood and began to pace, rubbing his chin aggressively.  He hated that this bullshit was getting to him, because that’s exactly what it was. Bullshit.  But the more he thought about it, the more unsettled he was, and the more he wanted to fight against it.

Sera had planned this, planned it all.  She knew that he couldn’t swim, just like she knew Cassandra would dump the first bottle of booze and they would need a second one.  Sera wasn’t a fool; she was probably the brightest asshole in Skyhold. People were always forgetting that, but not Varric.  Almost nothing had been a coincidence that night.  She wanted him to sit there on the shore, just waiting like a useless lump. She was telling him something, mocking him with it.

It made him angry.

“Is this Buttercup’s big plan?” He snapped.  Cole, who had watched him as he paced and grew angry, did not seem surprised by Varric’s rising voice.  “That’s what she’s doing, right?  She said that there was something wrong with us and she was going to fix it. Is this the lesson she’s teaching me? To sit on the sidelines, because apparently, that’s all people think I’m good for.  It’s like everyone has forgotten that I decided to stay. That I chose to stay when the sky cracked open or when fucking Kirkwall was falling apart. I stayed!”  He thrust a finger at Cole, his voice echoing around the alcove.

“You are upset.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

“Damn right I’m upset. I’ve given a lot to this cause. I’ve sacrificed and put my life on the line just as much as anyone else on the team.  So, why do I feel like I’m being attacked for it?”

Cole shook his head, starring at Varric’s finger.  “It’s more than that… ”

“Then, please, tell me what it is I’m supposed to be taking away from all of this. How am I the coward for fighting the same fight as Buttercup and the Seeker?”

“I think that there is a difference between staying and _staying_. Staying is also the result of not doing.”

Varric paced again, not sure what to do or say.  

“Not doing? I’ve done a lot for the Inquisition.”

Maker, he wished he had a drink. He could still feel the alcohol in his blood, but it wasn’t enough.  Not for this kind of talk.

“You miss him,” Cole said, suddenly.  “Mage… Champion… friend… you miss the Champion.”

Just the mention of him made Varric’s breath catch.  It came from out of nowhere, completely irrelevant.  He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t meant to talk about him. It felt like he was always talking about him.

_Hawke; it always comes back to Hawke._

“Every fucking day,” Varric sighed.  He closed his eyes, tilting his head up towards the moon. 

“He was a good friend to you.”

“The best.”

“You followed him for many years… hunting and killing… slavers, blood mages, Templars… never faltering, always following… friend, companion, sidekick, spare…”

Varric shook his head. That was wrong, all wrong. “Nah, I was never a spare. Not with Hawke.”

“You asked him to help you face your brother,” Cole said.  “What if he had said no?”

Varric remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it felt like a lifetime ago.  Just the mention of it made the anger flame up in his chest and he couldn’t help but snarl.  After all these years, Bartrand’s betrayal was still such a tender spot.

“He didn’t.”

“But what if?”  Cole blinked solemnly, his gaze bearing down on Varric.

Bartrand had left them both to die, him and Hawke.  He knew there was no way Hawke wasn’t going to want to get is vengeance as well. It was personal for him too, not just Varric.

“That doesn’t matter, kid. You can’t go around basing life off of ‘if’s’ and ‘would have’s’.”  Varric was partly sure that the only reason he said that was because he didn’t know what he would have done if Hawke had said no.  Would he have done it on his own, confronted Bartrand in the house by himself? Or would he have just let Bartrand get away with it all?

It didn’t matter anyways. Hawke had helped him. Hawke had always helped him.

“It does matter, Varric,” Cole said. “Things matter and things that are not things matter…”

It didn’t though. It was the past, completely unchangeable and irrelevant.  Varric couldn’t understand how what happened with Bartrand had any effect on the now. It didn’t.

He sat back on the log, drawing long, deep breaths.  He leaned forward onto his knees, starring intently at the lake.

Cole continued.  “You called him, asked for his help… Hawke, the Champion… Cassandra would be angry, was angry… how dare you, liar, coward… but you did it… took action, stood up…  and it _mattered_.”

Lavellan hadn’t asked Varric to reach out to Hawke.  She hadn’t even known he was an option.  Varric had done that. He knew Cassandra would learn that he lied, but he did it anyways.  Because it was the right thing to do at the time.

And it had felt like the right thing. It had felt great.

Varric said nothing, just listened to Cole’s voice.  “You will not follow Lavellan forever, just like you did not follow Hawke forever.”

He knew that.  It was an inevitable truth.  He wasn’t foolish enough to think that the Inquisition and Skyhold would be his forever.  Things changed. They always did. People came and went, but he stayed Varric. The same Varric, loyal, following, companion…

Cole continued. “You do or do not do because it is easy, because it is what you know and what is safe, when you should do or do not do because you believe you should, like you did when you brought Hawke to help. You have the ability to be a great leader, a great do-er.”  The spirit’s voice came so softly, Varric could barely hear it.  “You have followed for so long….  first, Bartrand, then Hawke, now Lavellan…  following to no end… but when will you follow yourself?”

And that was it. The thing the kid had been building up to, and it felt like a weight on Varric’s shoulders. Maybe he really was a coward, a survivor.  Maybe his staying meant nothing because he was so focused on staying the same. His sacrifice meant nothing because it’s not really considered a sacrifice if it is the easier of the two options. He spent his life floating and following, collecting stories, helping friends, fighting bad guys, but never really taking a stand for anything or the time to question anything. Sure, he had called for Hawke’s help that one time, the one time he had felt inspired to.  But what was one stand-up move compared to a lifetime on the sidelines?

Varric tipped his head into his hands, covering his eyes, and sighed deeply.  “I don’t know, kid.”

He didn’t need to see to know that Cole had disappeared.  Leaving him alone, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, sorry this chapter took FOREVER. I just got a new job and life has been crazy, but hopefully soon I'll get back into a normal schedule.
> 
> Secondly, I am so sorry for all the angst. You guys are troopers! It might seem bleak, but I promise some good things will come of it (specifically next chapter will have some nice happy fuzzies to look forward to).
> 
> Lastly, this chapter was interesting because I think of all the companions in DA:I, Varric is the one with the least obvious flaws. So I'd love to hear from you all about what you thought.


	14. A Different Kind of Care

Things had gone wrong, so terribly, terribly wrong.  One second it was “I let them die… and next I’ll hurt him… not a good man-“.  The next, The Iron Bull was swinging his fist right at his face.

Cole left, disappearing to the battlements outside of the tavern.  He could feel The Iron Bull inside, weeping, wanting… so desperate, so broken. Cole had tried to help, tried to make it better, but it was so far away from being better.

He hadn’t been able to help The Iron Bull, and Varric had been an even harder stone to turn.  He left before he could hurt him like he hurt The Iron Bull.

Cole wandered Skyhold alone. He tried to understand it all. It felt like The Iron Bull and Varric _needed_ to hear those things, even though it hurt them.  It was strange to think that some people needed to be hurt in order to heal.

Skyhold was so silent and still. Cole knew that others were around, he could hear them dreaming through the walls and from the nooks they had hid themselves away in.  Skyhold without the light and noise and business of the day made Cole… not quite sad but almost… it felt like how pieces of the Fade felt, when they stretched out over years and years, expansive and empty, and… melancholy.  It made him grateful that Lavellan accepted him into her fold all that time ago. He couldn’t go back to being on his own, not after being a part of many things and with many others. He hoped he would never be alone again.

He made his way towards the healing tents that once housed so many wounded soldiers. Now the only soldiers there was a man who had become dehydrated while on guard that morning, a woman who had food poisoning, and the healer, who was asleep on his own cot.  Cole watched their dreams for a while, stealing glimpses of families and nightmares of war.  Cole soothed their unhappy thoughts before leaving.  Cole thought of how many soldiers used to be in that tent… when Corypheus was still alive and each day was filled with blood and agony and death. Cole was glad that the world was better, that there was not so much horror, even if it meant that he was no longer needed to help the wounded.

He hoped that The Iron Bull and Varric were alright.  And he hoped that Cassandra, and Dorian, and Blackwall didn’t need him.  Even though he did not hear their thoughts, he knew he could easily find them if he wanted to.  He just didn’t want to.  Because if they needed him, like how The Iron Bull or Varric _needed_ him… Cole was tired.  He didn’t want to hurt anyone else.

Cole went to Leliana’s tower. He would sometimes visit there when he knew no one would be around.  It wasn’t as inviting or pleasant as the tavern, but Cole did enjoy looking at the spymaster’s birds.  They were big, black things, with sharp beaks and beady eyes… squawking, rattling around in their cages. Cole found them curious and they seemed to think Cole curious, too. There were so many of them at the top of the tower, but Cole knew as Leliana moved out to be the Divine, so would the birds. It would be strange… like the room itself was a cage left open… waiting for the birds to fly out and leave the room too empty… was it possible for a room to be too empty?  Cole hoped that Leliana would leave some of the birds for the Inquisition to use.

He was staring at a particularly fat crow, watching it slowly blink back at him, when he first heard her.

_Watching, waiting… who’s next… shite, well that wasn’t planned… it’s alright, everythin’ is alright…_

She was very close. Cole went to her, appearing on top of the roof, a couple of feet behind Sera.  She was sitting on the edge, dangling her feet over and swinging them. She had her bow in her hand and by her side were some red envelopes.  She was looking out over Skyhold, pressing her free hand over her eyes, shielding nothing but moonlight, to squint out into the darkness.  All this time, she had been up here… watching, waiting… the puppeteer and playwright, watching her toys below and rewriting the way they moved about… all of Skyhold her playground...

Cole opened his mouth to say something, but then thought again.  He shuffled his feet loudly on the roof’s shingles; hoping Sera would hear that and not be startled by his presence.  Cole felt like he was always startling people, especially when he didn’t mean to. His shuffling seemed to work. He saw Sera perk up slightly as the sound caught her attention.  She let out a huge groan.

“Ugh, nasty creepy, sent up here ta ruin my fun, is that it?”  She asked over her shoulder.

Cole walked over and squatted by her, making sure to leave a wide birth from her.  Getting too close made her uneasy, and Cole didn’t want that. He was tired of making people uneasy for tonight.

“No,” he murmured, his mouth pressed against his knees.  “I don’t want to ruin your fun, Sera.”

The view from the roof stretched over most of Skyhold.  Cole could see the tavern and the main gate and the stables, and even the thick of fog down in the valley where he knew Varric and Cassandra were.  The night breeze was also stronger up there, causing the brim of Cole’s hate to flutter and the jagged ends of Sera’s blonde hair to dance in her face.

“Then why are ya here?” She eyed him suspiciously. “What?  The big bad bull too much for ya ta handle now? You made him shed a few tears, go smashy-smashy on a wall, and you have ta come cryin’ ta me or som’fin?”

Cole frowned.  That was not the reason he was there.  He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“I helped The Iron Bull as much as I could,” Cole said, picking at the leaves that had wedged themselves under the shingles of the roof.  “I did what you told me to do.  Now, he has to make the hurting stop.”

“Bloody git,” Sera moaned. “That’s wot he gets for messin’ with my plan. Now he’s just mopin’ in his room, like a big horned baby.  That’s what they’re all doin’ right?  All boo-hoo’in because I took their toys away an’ made ‘em deal with the shite they didn’ want ta.” She waved her arms dramatically, punctuating the night air with her empty fist.

Cole didn’t answer. He knew Sera wouldn’t want him to say anything.  She usually didn’t like when he said things.  He didn’t blame her, though. Most people preferred to not have things said to them when they had things to say.  They just wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen. Cole liked listening. He was so bad with talking, listening was so much easier.  He could just help by being there and wanting to be there.

Sure enough, Sera continued. “Stupid tits.  Really.   It’s so simple. They are the ones who make it hard. Aww, he will never love me as much as I love him, I’m not worthy of her, we can never be friends, blah blah blah. It’s all rubbish. They’re all a bunch of bleatin' arseholes.”

Cole nodded, solemnly. He pulled a leaf free from the roof and tossed it, letting it cascade slowly into the darkness.

“It’s like this, right.” Sera turned to face him, unaware that she set her bow down at her side.  “Cassandra and Varric as so bloody stubborn, the only way ‘round it was ta get ‘em piss drunk.  Give ‘em a bit o’ booze, give ‘em some alone time and WHAM, Cassandra’s finally out of her own head and Varric gets ta spend some time actually in his.  Meanwhile, the two most broody-pants idiots in the world get to look like fools runnin’ ‘round Skyhold, chasin’ clues in those dresses, just so I can trick ‘em into realizin’ that they ain’t so different after all and can actually help each other.  They’re both such broody-pants idiots, though.  And Bull, well you made a right mess of that, didn’t ya?”

She snorted, grinning at Cole. He let the corner of his mouth twist up into a smile, but he didn’t mean it. Cole just didn’t like the feeling of being the person who caused that hurt.  It was a good hurt, and if The Iron Bull would be better at the end of it, Cole was glad that he had forced it to happen.  But, right now, Cole wasn’t sure if it _would_ make him better…

“It’s all good, innit? I mean, he’s finally goin' ta acknowledge wot happened.  He has to.” She shook her head. Her eyes grew serious as they scanned out over Skyhold.

“The point is, it should be as simple as getting them ta sit down and talk 'bout it, but they won’t ever do that, would they?  That’s why I got to do all this.  Lies and sneakin’, shovin’ ‘em arse first through shite just ta get ‘em ta talk. Idiots, the lot of ‘em. And I’m daft for carin’ ‘bout ‘em.”

She gave a small sigh, her eyes fluttering slightly as she glanced down at her hand, which were fidgeting and wringing each other in her lap.

Cole had always known that Sera cared about the others.  She cared in a different kind of care.  When Dorian showed he cared he would do nice things but then cover them with hurtful words that he did not mean.  When Varric showed he cared, he would call people by a name that he gave to them… it was his way of claiming them as one of his own, his family.  And when Lavellan cared, she would do favors… little requests or comments said in passing, suddenly tasks of importance… no matter what it was, how small… would do anything to make that person happy or bring them peace of mind.

But when Sera cared, she wouldn’t give someone what they wanted.  She gave them what they needed.  In some ways, Cole thought that this made her care even more.  She was willing to make someone angry at her, make them not care for her in return, if it meant they would be a better person for it.

“You are a good friend to them, Sera.” Cole said, lifting his mouth from his knees so she could hear him.  “You can’t help but care about them.”

 “What’re you on about?”

Cole smiled.  “You like helping people.  It gives you purpose, a reason… see the cracks and fill them in… make it stop, end the hurt.  It makes sense to you, when there is so much in the world that doesn’t make sense.”

She scowled.  “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Doing that.  That thing, with the ghosty-magic all up in my brain. You’re doin’ it right now. Just stop it.”

“We are a lot alike, Sera. Helping people makes sense for me, too.”

“Shut it.”

Sera’s words came quick and harsh, but her bow remained at her side, far from her grip, and her legs continued to swing idly over the edge of the rooftop.

“I hope someday we can be friends,” Cole added. “Then we can help people together.”

She scoffed.  “Not likely.”

Cole pressed his mouth to his knees again. He couldn’t help but feel happy. He knew Sera still didn’t trust him, not completely.  But it was better, better than when they had first met… when she wouldn’t look at him out of fear instead of stubbornness… using biting words to cause him pain rather than conceal her feelings. In her own way, her words now were just her way of showing affection and, as they stared out over Skyhold side-by-side, Cole knew that one day they would be friends. 

One day…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AW YA! SERA&COLE BONDING TIME!
> 
> You guys deserved an angst break so enjoy some Sera and Cole not-quite-friendship fluffiness.
> 
> short chapter, sorry. Next one will be longer (Dorian chapters are always long because he just never shuts up :p)
> 
> ALSO NOTE: The next chapter will take some liberties with Dorian's romance storyline and Blackwall's history. Just a warning.
> 
> But you will find out about objects next chapter :)


	15. Things Unsaid

“What I don’t understand is _how_?”  Dorian gaped, rustling through the pieces of parchment in shock. “ _How_ did she do this?  Make this list? It’s… impossible!”

Dorian held in his hands the list that Sera had attached around the Nuggalope’s neck. The red envelope that was now torn open had Dorian’s name scribbled across the front.  It had contained a long list, stretching over numerous pieces of paper.

Dorian continued to stammer, his eyes raking the list in bewilderment.  “Most of these things were said in private.  Was she just lurking by the door at every hour of the day, recording the things she heard?”

The list contained what appeared to be every discussion Bull and Dorian had shared, starting from their first interactions – before anything had ever started and Dorian antagonized Bull with insults and the Qunari teased with flirtations – to their more recent interactions.  Sera had included when they debated about the differences between Tevinter slaves and the mages under the Qun, when Dorian had asked Bull what he had been like as a child, when Bull explained why he liked dragons so much, every time Bull had told Dorian he was ‘so good’ and every time Dorian called Bull a ‘great beast’, every insult, every joke, every masked compliment, every confession, every every every… recorded with a quill and ink.

At the very end of the list, Sera had scribbled down her own note.

 

FOR DOING SO MUCH TALKING, YOU TWO DON’T EVER REALLY SAY ANYTHING.

 

Dorian was confused and furious.  But being reminded of the wonderful and beautiful things Bull had said to him that had been lost in memory had also filled Dorian with such affection that he didn’t even know what to feel.

“I don’t know how she does it, but she always finds a way, doesn’t she?”  Blackwall chuckled softly.  He ran his hand over the top of the Nuggalope’s head, which was still in his lap. The creature had closed its eyes and occasionally would snort idly.

“Did you get a list like this?” Dorian asked, holding the note in a way that prevented Blackwall from reading their contents.  Despite the fact that Sera had clearly heard all of it, Dorian still valued what little privacy those intimate moments still held.

Blackwall nodded. “Yes,” he said, tapping his breast pocket.

Dorian crumpled the list into his fist, only to unfurl it again and re-read it.  “I don’t know whether to be livid at Sera for snooping or feel humiliated that she felt the need to make this list at all,” he breathed, his moustache twitching at one side. “I suppose I will settle for a little of both.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”  Blackwall grunted.

“Talk?” Dorain blinked. “About Bull and I?”

Blackwall shrugged. The Nuggalope stirred, eyeing Blackwall as if to question why he had moved.  He had never been a man for talking, least of all talking about people’s problems. The suggestion had made Dorian instantly suspicious.

“No, I don’t think that is necessary.”  Dorian said, dryly.

“It might make you feel better,” Blackwall added, not really looking at Dorian as he talked. “Clearly, Sera thinks it’s worth talking about.”

“I’m sorry, but is this the part of the night where we start braiding each other’s hair and swapping old war tales and mindless gossip?”

Blackwall was silent, looking off into the horizon again.  Dorian folded the note, but held it in his hand, not sure quite what to do with it. As a whole, the night had been strange and he wasn’t sure what to do with it either.  Sera had really done a number on all of them-

“The ring was my father’s.”

“What?”

“The ring,” Blackwall repeated, voice gruff.  “That Sera took from me.  My object of importance or whatever.  You asked about it earlier and I refused to tell you.  Well, it was my father’s.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t.  He watched Blackwall’s face, which had a sternness and hardness that seemed exaggerated in the darkness of the early morning. 

He chewed at the inside of his mouth, before eventually continuing.  “It’s a simple ring, no real value or anything.  Just silver with my family name engraved on the inside. It belonged to my father’s father, and then to my father, and then to me when he passed.”

Dorian suddenly realized that this information was something Blackwall didn’t share with others, and uneasiness settled in his stomach when he tried to reason why Blackwall would share it with _him_. But perhaps he wasn’t sharing it with Dorian specifically, but simply sharing it.  Dorian nodded, deciding that if Blackwall felt the need to talk, he could help him do so.

“Did you have a good relationship with him?”  Dorian asked, thinking about his own relationship with his father. 

“I didn’t really know him. He died when I was just a little thing. Can barely even remember him. But everyone told me he was a good man.”

“How… did he die? If you don’t mind my asking.” Dorian recognized that he hadn’t asked as a favor to Blackwall, but because he was genuinely curious.

“There was a fire,” the Warden’s voice became distant, soft and fragile.  “When I was just a young lad, my family’s house and many of our neighbors’ caught alight.  My father made sure to get my mother, my sister, and I to safety, before he went back to help the other families.  He saved a lot of people. And died doing it.”

“He sounds very brave. And very selfless.” A pang of jealousy struck at Dorian’s heart.  His own father had never been as selfless as that, and would never be able to put Dorian’s well being before his own.  The reminder tasted bitter in Dorian’s mouth.

“Yes,” Blackwall agreed, his voice like gravel.  “And I kept his ring all these years, as a reminder of what kind of man he was. Even when I became Blackwall and joined the Grey Wardens, I kept it.  I didn’t wear it though.  I thought I didn’t deserve to wear the ring of such a good man.”

So like Blackwall, Dorian thought.  Self deprecating and ashamed and shrouded in the unworthiness that he projected. Even though he and Blackwall didn’t necessarily see eye-to-eye, Dorian could recognize that he was a good man, but to tell him that was futile.

Blackwall drew in a sharp breath, eyes glued on the horizon.  “That ring was the only thing I ever kept of my old life, Thom Rainier’s life. I knew it was risky to keep it. If anyone found it, if one of the Wardens saw it and recognized the name on it, and realized that I was lying about being who I said I was, I was as good as dead.”  He scowled down at the ground, mumbling through the words. “But I think I always hoped someone would find it and I would finally be forced to admit who I really was and come out of hiding.  Waiting for someone else to discover me was the best thing I could hope for to atone for my mistakes, since I was a coward and couldn’t confess them myself.”

Dorian pictured Blackwall as a Warden, carrying around his father’s ring and almost hoping that someone would discover him and free him of his burdens. Dorian could understand that, living with secrets and hoping for someone else to just _know_ , because actually confessing was too painfully impossible.

“It takes a very brave man to admit the things that are hard to say,” Dorian said.  “I do not fault you for not being able to.”

Dorian expected an argument, for Blackwall to jump to his feet and claim that his sins were far worse than anything Dorian could possibly comprehend.  But Blackwall didn't do any of that.  To Dorian’s surprise, he almost looked grateful. Perhaps he was just tired, tired of fighting and hating himself and believing that he would never be able to repair what he had done.

Dorian watched the bearded man’s face.  He looked so worn and raw, but somehow new.  Like he had finally found some form of peace after carrying such a burden for so long. A part of Dorian envied that peace.

He sighed. “Well, since you are in a sharing mood, I might as well return the favor,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Sera took my amulet.”

Blackwall looked at Dorian for the first time in a while, watching him with hardened eyes and listening intently.

“Well, technically it’s an amulet, but it’s also more than that.  It’s the Pavus birthright.  A while ago Lavellan helped me retain it, even though I told her not to. Sometimes the stubbornness of that woman is blood curdling.”

Dorian sulked, recalling how he had mentioned the bloody thing to her and next thing he knew, she was using her status as the Inquisitor to retrieve it for him, as if he was some helpless child who couldn’t solve his own problems.  And as grateful as he was, he had also been furious, because there was no way she could possibly understand what the gesture had meant to him. It was more than he ever would have asked of her.

“I know it sounds funny, that something that represents my family and where I came from would be considered my important item, when they are the reason I fled in the first place. I guess it’s just one of those cruel ironies.”  Dorian sat very still, but he could feel his body twitching under his skin.  The amulet was important, and perhaps no one else would understand that, but it was.  It represented his family and his life of privilege, which he despised, but it also symbolized _him_.

Blackwall looked as if he was thinking about what Dorian had said.  He eventually asked, “If it means a lot to you, why didn’t you tell Bull to look for it when he went to go find our objects?” 

The Nuggalope, who had completely been forgotten, began to whine loudly under Blackwall’s still hand, until he scratched behind its ears again.  Dorian caught himself almost smiling at how pathetic the stupid thing was.

“I’m sure that would have gone over splendidly.  ‘Oh, Bull, do you mind looking for the thing that symbolizes my corrupt homeland and the birth name that I despise so much?’” Dorian mocked a chuckle, before retreating back to his serious tone.  “Sounds absurd, even to me.  No, I couldn’t have asked that of him.”

“I’m sure he would have understood.”

“Would he?” Dorian asked, genuine confusion in his voice. “Or would he have just been Bull; cordial and kind, feeding my desires and needs first?  Sometimes it’s hard to tell where Bull ends and where the Qun begins.  He never tells me what he wants, only asks what I want.  I must sound like a selfish fool, complaining about a man who attends to my every need with such diligence and kindness.  But I can’t stop from fearing that if Bull knew about it- my amulet- a part of him wouldn’t understand and might even resent me.  How can I be Tevinter and care for a Qunari?  The words don’t even make sense. 

“Yes, I am the first in line to admit my country mens’ flaws, but Tevinter is as much a part of me as it is any of them.  And can Bull care for someone who admits that?  Ha, it’s rather funny, really, when you think about it.  Being in a position where I have to choose between a part of myself and he person that I’m with.  Normally, the choice wouldn’t seem so difficult.  I have chosen myself numerous times- when I left my family and when I betrayed Alexius- but Bull… Bull makes the choice… more difficult.” Dorian stuttered over his last words, forcing them out when they caught in his throat.

Even though he never could admit it out loud, not even to Bull, Dorian’s feelings for him had surpassed anything he had ever expected.  And the thought of Bull rejecting him, any part of him, even the Tevinter part…

“I’ve come to care a great deal for the great lummox,” Dorian murmured. “ So much so that I’ve caught myself assuming and, even worse, hoping.  And the thought of losing him or what I feel is… unbearable. I suppose that’s the reason I can’t bring myself to talk to him about it.  I’d rather stay as we are than take the risk of it all being over.”

There. That was it.  Dorian expected to feel the relief of confession, the release of admitting things that he had a difficult time even admitting to himself. But it never came. Instead, the words just sat in his stomach like a stone, tightening his chest until he felt sick.

He cared for Bull, cared so much it made him hurt.  Dorian had never been in a position to care for someone like that.  His experience with sexual partners had always been fleeting and meaningless.  But being with Bull had meaning.  But what it meant, Dorian didn’t know.  And he could never find out.  Because if he talked to Bull about it, asked Bull about what they were or what Dorian was to him, there was the strong possibility that it wouldn’t be what Dorian had started to hope for.

It was better to leave things unsaid than to risk them all.

Blackwall scratched at his whiskers thoughtfully.  “I’m not an expert on matters like this, and I’m no good with fancy words, but I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.  Everyone can see it. You think you’re secretive, but you’re not. And the truth is, you don’t have to be. When you care about someone the way that you care about Iron Bull, you should just… let it show.”

Dorian blinked at him. He was going to point out how ironic it was for Blackwall to have said that, considering that everyone knew of his affections for Josephine which he refused to act on, but something in the man’s expression told Dorian that the connection had already occurred to him.

Instead, Dorian opened up Sera’s list again, the scribbled note at the bottom suddenly meaning more than it did before.

_For doing so much talking, you two don’t ever really say anything._

He talked to Bull, but never told him how he felt or thought.  He hadn’t been able to tell Bull about his amulet out of fear that the Qunari would not understand and he couldn’t ask Bull about how he felt for Dorian, out of fear of being hurt.  He wouldn’t be able to stay in limbo forever, eventually he would have to talk to Bull. Sera knew that. That was what she had wanted from him. It was how she was helping him.

“You’re right,” he mumbled. Blackwall was right. Sera was right. He had to confront it eventually.

Dorian stood quickly and shakily began to shed his periwinkle dress, pulling it down over his clothes with hasty fingers, not even bothering with laces and buttons. The Nuggalope, startled by Dorian’s quick movements, sat up and looked around nervously.

“Where’re you going?” Blackwall asked, watching as Dorian peeled the skirt off of his hips and stepped out of it.

“I am going to find Bull,” Dorian said confidently, despite the fact the very thought made his knees shake. “Sera obviously wants me to deal with all of the things I have not said.  So that’s what I’ll do.”  Dorian paused, looking at the Nuggalope and Hart that was still asleep on the grass. “Did you want help with… those?”

Blackwall looked at the beasts with a smile.  “I think I’ll manage. You go take care of it.”

Dorian gave Blackwall a grateful nod.

The sky on the horizon had turned pink with an orange glow over the land.  The morning was coming, bright and glorious and bringing the promise of a new day.  Before Dorian could lose his nerve and convince himself that it was a bad idea, he turned and headed towards Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would have thought that procrastinating real work would mean I'd magically find more time to work on this fic? So, you all get to enjoy back to back chapters.
> 
> So, I definitely created the whole thing about Blackwall's father. I couldn't find any information on him, except that he has a sister, so I hope what I came up with could fall into the realm of canon, possibly? Let me know if you guys know more about his past.
> 
> Also, the Inquisitor only goes to get Dorian's amulet in his romance quest, but I figured that this Lavellan and Dorian are so close that she probably would have gotten it for him anyways. One of the perks of being best friends with the Inquisitor.
> 
> Two objects revealed, two to go! ;)


	16. Are You Happy Now?

Swimming out to the boat hadn’t been difficult; it was the journey back that had Cassandra struggling. The swim out there had been shorter than expected.  After a couple of minutes paddling her way through the icy, black water she found the boat drifting lazily by itself.  With some effort and grunting, Cassandra hoisted herself into the little wooden rowboat.

As soon as her wet skin hit the night air, her teeth began to chatter wildly.  The red envelope was waiting right on the seat, but to her dismay, the boat lacked any sort of paddles to head back to shore with.

 _Typical_ , she thought as her body began to shake violently from the chill.

She only had a few choices for how to proceed.  One, she could swim behind the boat and try to push it back to shore, which sounded terribly exhausting.  Two, she could read the note, memorize it, and just repeat it for Varric when she returned. Again, she quickly ruled that option out. If she forgot one word or couldn’t repeat the riddle correctly, she would just have to swim back for the note. Her last choice, and the one she decided was the best, was to simply return with the note, but carefully keep it dry on the journey back.

Desperate to get back in the water and stop shivering, Cassandra grabbed the envelope and lowered herself in, keeping the letter high above the surface.  She headed in the direction she came from, swimming with one arm and holding the other high above her head.  It wasn’t long before she began to grow tired, her head began slipping below the surface, stinging her throat and eyes with cold water. It was taking much longer to get back than it had taken to get to the boat, and Cassandra became worried that maybe she was only swimming further out into the fog.  Just before she could begin to panic, the rocky shore came into focus through the mist, and there was Varric, still sitting on the log with his head buried in his hands.  Cassandra gathered what little energy she had left and paddled her way towards him.

He only looked up at her as walked up out of the lake, legs wobbling with fatigue and her soaked clothes dripping everywhere.  He gave her a dry smile as she came to sit next to him.

“Welcome back. Did you find it?” His voice seemed flat, as if it was trying to conceal something.

“Yes… I… found it,” Cassandra gasped, trying to catch her breath.  The shivering wasn’t making it easier, but she was more concerned for the solemn dwarf beside her.  “Are you alright? You seem…”

Different? Upset? Worried?

Varric sighed. “I’m just tired,” he answered. “Let’s just read this note and finish up.”

Cassandra had a feeling he was deflecting, but couldn’t build up the nerve to ask him about it. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if she did anyways.  Varric fulfilled the dwarven-stereotype of being stubborn and bull-headed when it came to sharing personal information.  Considering how they met, Cassandra knew it to be true.

She did have to agree with him though; she wanted to finish up just as much as he did. The whole night had been one crazy goose chase, from the drinking to the long walk out of Skyhold and now to the midnight swimming in a freezing lake.  Sure, she could admit that the experience hadn’t been all bad. In fact, she had enjoyed herself a little bit more than she thought she would have, but exhaustion was hitting her like wave and she was ready to retrieve her object and end the night for good.

She turned her attention to ripping open the envelope, her wet hand dampening the paper. She eagerly took out the note and held it up to read:

 

But it was blank.

 

Confused, Cassandra flipped it over and searched the envelope for something she missed, but there was nothing, only the blank piece of paper in her hands.

“I… I don’t understand,” she murmured.  “Where’s the next clue?”

Varric, who leaned in to peer over her shoulder when he noticed her confused fumbling, fixed a stern glare at the paper as he shook his head.  He took the note from Cassandra’s hand and turned it over slowly. Cassandra watched him earnestly, hoping he’d find something she missed, but he simply stammered. “I… I don’t know.”

“What does this mean? Did we miss something? Perhaps there were multiple trails of arrows or we just followed the wrong ones?”  Cassandra could feel her heartbeat quickening. She glanced around for another arrow, a note, _something_ that they missed. They were so close to finishing the game.  They couldn’t get stuck now, not after everything.

“I don’t think Buttercup would make multiple trails with dead ends.”  Varric began to rub at his cheek, his brow furrowed in thought.

“We missed something. We had to of.  Or, let me see that,” she said, as she ripped the blank paper from his grip.  She pointed at it, “This has to mean something.  Varric, you are good at solving riddles.  What could Sera mean by this?”

“I… I honestly don’t know,” he shrugged, bewildered.  “It’s just a blank piece of paper.”

“No. It can’t be.”  Cassandra blinked at it.  She could feel herself growing angry.  She wanted to make it stop, to regain control, but the frustration boiled up inside her chest like steam in a kettle.  “This wasn’t all for a blank piece of paper.  Sera wouldn’t… no, no she wouldn’t, would she? It’s against the rules. She said the rules were she would tell us to do something and we would do it.  This defies that!”

“Don’t you get it?” Varric’s voice had an exasperated edge to it.  “There are no rules. There is only whatever that Blighted elf does next.  There is no right or wrong here, there is only what Buttercup wants us believe is right or wrong. That’s it.”  He practically snarled at the last words, but caught himself. His eyes softened a little as he watched Cassandra process what he had said.

He was right. There was no right and wrong for the night.  There was only what Sera wanted. 

“ I understand what you are saying,” Cassandra sneered.  “She lead us around like a bunch of drunken idiots, telling us to find clues, and for what? For the fun of it?  A punch line to the joke?” 

Another joke at her expense. Another punchline for her to squirm under.  It was all too familiar. She was slightly ashamed at herself for thinking that maybe Sera really was trying to help them, that there was something more than just one big charade.

 

Cassandra rocketed to her feet, screaming into the darkness.  “ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?  DID YOU GET YOUR FILL OF LAUGHS?”

Varric jumped up beside her, waving for her to stop.  “Seeker, shhh. Bring it down.”

“Why?” She turned on him, bearing down and spitting words.  She was so angry, so hurt, she could taste it.  “I have nothing to hide!  She has filled me with alcohol, humiliated me, _literally_ stripped me down.  And now I finally know why!  All for her big joke!”

Cassandra kicked angrily at the rocks underfoot, scattering them into the lake with a chorus of splashes. She grunted and kicked and screamed out in anger.  Varric watched her, but said nothing.  She kicked at the log, splintering the wood, before sinking onto it, head hung low.

“And to think that I let her do this to me,” Cassandra murmured.  “I made myself the fool again and I am truly the only one that can be blamed for it. And now, it is clear that she was never planning on returning it to me.  The last thing I had of Anthony… gone.”

Before Anthony had been… before it happened, he had given Cassandra a gift, a small pocket book, filled with notes he had collected about dragons.  He had given it to her as a promise for what the future held for them, together. And now it was a reminder of what would never be.  Cassandra had held onto that book for so long, knew it by each page and seam.  She could describe it as if it was in her hands at that moment. It meant the world and more. Because, in a way, it was Anthony.

And Sera took it. Without understanding what it truly meant, without knowing how it felt like watching Anthony taken from her all over again.  It felt like a betrayal from Sera and a failure from herself, since she was unable to protect him, yet again.

Anthony’s book, gone. His scribbled notes that wound around the pages crookedly because they didn’t quite fit, gone. The etched drawings of dragon species and shapes of teeth and lists of scale color and wing span measurements, gone.

It was all gone. And Cassandra felt so… broken. To her horror, she did something that she had hoped to never do in front of someone ever again.

She began to cry.

Wet, hot tears streamed down her chilled cheeks as she sucked in ragged breaths, trying to steady her gasping.  Her eyes stung, and she buried them into her fists, pushing her eyes painfully into her skull, trying to stop the tears.  The only sound was her sobs.

Cassandra couldn’t even remember the last time she had cried.  She had shed a few tears for Most Holy after the conclave, but nothing as undignified as this.

The weight of everything was just too much.  She had been cold and rigid for so long, carrying the burden of the world as she tried to desperately hold it together and keep it from falling apart.  Even though she understood that it was her duty to do so, sometimes she selfishly wished it wasn’t such a burden.

The Inner Circle did not understand what it was like, and Sera had made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t on Cassandra’s side.  Lavellan was a good friend to her, but she was often busy helping the others or closing rifts. And even Anthony, the small piece of him she had left, was gone forever.  Cassandra felt completely alone.

She sat like that for a while, crying like a child, until she felt a strong arm wrap around her shoulder. It was timid at first, but slowly began to grip her tighter, a hand comforting and rubbing at her shoulder.

“Seeker,” Varric said, his voice low and soft and slow.  “You are one of the damn strongest women I’ve had the misfortune- and fortune- of meeting. This doesn’t change that.” She felt him lean in and press his mouth to the top of her head, kissing her crown gently.

Cassandra then did another thing that she never thought she would do; she turned and leaned into Varric, burying her face into chest and accepting his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three objects down, one to go!
> 
> Sorry that this chapter took some time. It's hard to find the energy to write when I write at work for 9 hours.
> 
> As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated! Especially with the bits that I have to make up, like Cassandra's object :)


	17. Exposing the Skin

When Bull finally realized what he had done, it was too late.  He slowly lifted his head from his crumpled position against the wall. He held his bloody knuckles close to his chest, using the pain and blood as an anchor for what had happened, for what was real.

“Kid?” He mumbled meekly, scanning the empty room with his one good eye.  There was no reply.  “Kid? I…”

He stood on shaky legs, his bad knee sore from being on the floor for so long.  Bull glanced at the hole he had made while trying to strike Cole. He ran his large fingers over the splintered wood, another anchor to reality.  His chest tightened, strangling the roar of fear and anger and shame inside of him.

The kid had only been trying to help.  And that was how Bull reacted.

What had he done?

Bull blinked hard, gathering his bearings.  He had to find Cole. He had to set things right.  Who knew what would happen if he didn’t.

He thought about checking downstairs for the kid, but decided it was a bad decision. There was a good chance that The Chargers were still down there.  What if seeing them brought back those same emotions?  What if he lost control again?  Bull pictured his merry group of men, looking up at him with all of the trust in Thedas on their faces.  And then how quickly that trust would be shattered when Bull couldn’t control himself, when that pain and anger over-took him again, and he reacted by smashing them all to pieces.  Rocky, Dalish… Krem-

Downstairs wasn’t an option.  Instead, Bull made his way towards the battlements through his room, leaving the doors open just in case Cole needed the sign of assurance that he could reappear.

The night air was still crisp, but morning would soon be upon them.  Bull could just make out the warm glow of the sun on the horizon. A gust of wind picked up, shaking some of the feathers still stuck to Bull’ frame free and sending them dancing into the air.  Bull had almost forgotten about them, and about the night in general.  Sera’s game and the stolen objects seemed so far away now, so unimportant. It was hard to believe that everything had happened only within a few hours.

“Cole!” Bull called out, as loud as he dared. “Kid, it’s alright… I- I need to talk to you!”

He slowly made his way towards Cullen’s office, stopping short of the closed door.

“Please, kid… Answer me…”

But there was no answer. Skyhold was unbelievably quiet. It was as if all time had stopped and Bull was stuck in some stretch of isolation.  He couldn’t help but feel like it was punishment for what had happened.

Bull paced the battlements for a while, calling out Cole’s name and hoping for a chance to explain himself. Each time there was no response, Bull became more panicked.  What if Cole left for good?  What if he told the others what had happened?

This had all been Sera’s plan. Use Cole to meddle her way into his feelings about what happened, get Bull to finally acknowledge it. That’s why she had locked him in the room.  The poor kid had just been an instrument in the whole thing, and Bull nearly took his head off because of it. Like some savage beast, Bull couldn’t control himself when Sera had the kid do some meaningless poking.

But, it hadn’t been meaningless.  The Kid hadn’t been wrong, had he?  Everything that Cole had said was drudged up from the feelings and thoughts that had been stewing inside Bull since it happened. 

That terrible day with the Dreadnought, Bull had been caught between saving The Chargers and obeying the Qun.  And he chose to do nothing. He hadn’t wanted his men to die, but he hadn’t wanted to break orders either.  The Inquisitor was the one who called for the retreat and saved them all. 

The Chargers were alive, Bull became Tal-Vashoth, and he had pushed the whole ordeal to the back of his mind, wanting to deal with it later or possibly never. Cole hadn’t been wrong about any of it, the shame he felt over his indecision, his confusion over what the boss meant when she called him ‘a good man’, the fear that he would lose control and hurt someone he cared about, someone like Dorian…

Bull looked out towards the mountains.  The sky had lost its black color and was slowly warming into a blue.  Bull had seen enough early mornings, from his time with the Inquisition and with those sleepless nights in Seheron, to know the beginnings of a beautiful day.  It seemed unfair that he should start this one feeling so completely broken.

Bull was no longer Bull, he couldn’t be.  The Iron Bull had belonged to the Qun, just as Hissrad had.  But if Bull was no longer The Iron Bull, was he no one? It didn’t seem to make sense that he was no one, since Bull knew of his existence and knew himself to still be a person.  A person couldn’t be no one.  But he felt like a no one.

With the Qun, he had been someone, a number, a carefully calculated and singular part of a whole. But now, there was no Qun and there was no number.  There was no whole. Even if he could figure out who or what he was now, there was nothing that he could fit himself into, no whole.

He was a man with no identity, no reason, and no regulation.  He was just like one of Sera’s bee jars, just waiting to go off and hurt everyone around it.

Bull stood and headed back towards his room.  It seemed like finding the spirit was hopeless, and if Bull continued to just sit around and _think_ he was sure to never get outside of his head again.

When he got back to his room he closed the door behind, but decided to leave the one to the tavern open, just in case Cole did come back.  Bull’s movements were slow and laborious; he was tired, emotionally and physically drained.  He thought about just calling it a night, and going to sleep.

Fuck Sera. He didn’t care about his object, not anymore.  It didn’t matter, not after everything that happened.  He gave a sigh when he realized that Sera had won.  He had been so stubborn, so unyielding, but she won all the same.

He went to his basin and reached for a cloth.  The water was freezing, but Bull didn’t mind.  He had been on plenty of missions where he hadn’t even had enough water to drink, let alone bathe in.  The cold water would do just fine.

He began to wipe the muck and feathers away, exposing his clean, grey skin underneath. He rubbed circular motions over the stubborn areas; black muck streaked down his thick arms in muddy ribbons. Bull splashed the water over his face and vigorously rubbed the cloth over his horns, making sure to get the crevices clean.

If he had followed the Qun’s orders, The Chargers would all be dead.  And even though Bull at the time could not bring himself to call the order, he knew that deep in his heart he was grateful that the boss had done it. Even though it meant he was Tal-Vashoth. There was no regret about that.

At what point had Bull decided that breaking orders was a good thing?  Maybe he had only been kidding himself when he had been saying that he was still under the Qun all these years.  He had probably been drifting further and further from their ideologies with each day that he was in the South as a Ben-Hassrath, without even realizing it.

But even if he technically had slowly been breaking himself from the Qun, it had still been important to him. There had been a sense of rules and regulations that he felt tethered to, however false or distant they actually were.  Now that he was Tal-Vashoth, those rules were gone and his biggest fears could come true. Order and chaos could sit in the same mind now.  There was no longer a leash to bind him, keep him logical or rational.  He was just as subjected to the mistakes and whims of a madman.

Without the Qun, there was no safety for any of them.  He was a monster just waiting to happen.  No regulation, no guarantees, just a mad beast in his mind, clawing and biting, tearing Bull apart.

He wiped the last of the feathers away, finally clean of the filth.  The cold air in the room felt good against Bull’s damp skin. In a way, it felt like he could breath a little better.

He left the dirtied cloth in the even dirtier basin and went to his bed, sinking onto its edge and sitting with his hands over his face.

Bull could feel the world crumbling around him and he knew that his strength wasn’t enough to hold it together.  He had managed to withhold it and push all of these thought s and feelings deep down inside him for so long, only to have them betray him now.  He couldn’t guarantee the safety of all the people he had grown to care about and the thought of hurting them now brought Bull to the brink of nausea.

He wasn’t a good man. He could never be a good man.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so lost in his thoughts and distress, Bull would have heard those familiar footsteps approaching long before they stopped in his doorway, followed by that concerned and hesitant voice.

“Bull?”


	18. Look at Me

“Dorian!” Bull jumped to his feet, wide eyed. He looked wrecked, and not the kind of wrecked Dorian was used to seeing after their long nights together. No, Bull looked shaken, like a man who has just discovered something horrible.

Dorian took a step towards the man. “Bull, are you-“

“Don’t!” Bull warned.  The Qunari took a step backwards, almost pushing himself against the far wall.  “You can’t come near me. Not now.”

Dorian tried to draw closer. “What? What’s wro-“

“Don’t come closer.” Bull said, holding his hands up. His eye was large, begging. “Please.”

Dorian froze. Something was very wrong. He had never seen the Bull like this. He was acting nervous, frantic even, like a caged animal.

“Alright.” Dorian breathed. “Alright.”

The Bull seemed to ease up a bit, but only slightly.  The two men stared at each other for a few seconds in the silence of Bull’s room. Dorian quickly tried to deduce what had happened, what could have driven Bull to this state.

Dorian had stopped by Sera’s room first.  He remembered that Bull had gone to try and locate his stolen objects and Dorian figured that Sera’s room was the first place Bull had checked.  What Dorian hadn’t expected was to find Sera’s door ripped off and her room in disarray.  A trail of feathers led up the stairs, pooled by some busted, bloody wood on the upper floor, and led the way to Bull’s room. 

Dorian slowly put the pieces together, eyeing Bull’s bloody knuckles.

“If I can’t come near you, may I at least take a seat?”  Dorian gestured to the chair near the door, on the opposite side of the room from Bull. The mage did his best to maintain his usual haughty demeanor, even though his heart was racing in his chest.

Bull hesitated, but eventually nodded.

Dorian gracefully sat in the chair, crossing his legs and concealing his shaking knees, while purposefully folding his arms across his chest.  Bull stood unmoving across the room.  Dorian had hoped he would have returned to the bed as soon as he saw Dorian sit down, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon. Bull was watching Dorian’s every move, which under normal circumstances would have had Dorian bursting with pride. This was different. Bull’s entire body was tense, as if he was terrified to relax one muscle, unsure of what would happen if he did.

Dorian wasn’t sure how to begin.  He hadn’t planned any speeches on his way to find Bull, and even if he did they would be useless now. Talking to Bull now was like talking to a stranger.  But of all of Dorian’s wonderful qualities, he knew his tongue to be one of his strongest. Even if he had no idea what to say to Bull, he knew he would be able to come up with something.

“Now then,” Dorian began. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Bull blinked at him before glaring at the floorboards.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

When Bull snapped his gaze back to Dorian’s, the mage made sure to hold it.

“I… I almost hurt the Kid,” Bull murmured.  His voice was like gravel and so small Dorian strained to hear it.  “The Kid was poking around in my head and he just wouldn’t stop. I tried to get away but he kept talking about it. And then… I lost control.  And I tried to hurt him.”

Dorian nodded thoughtfully, but his head was buzzing.  He had so many questions.  _Cole has poked around in Bull’s head before, why was it upsetting now?  What did he mean by ‘lost control’?  Could Bull even hurt Cole if he was a spirit?  Where was Cole now?_ Dorian had to make sure he asked the right question next.

“What did Cole say that made you react that way?”

Bull flinched, and Dorian was almost certain he had chosen wrong.  The Qunari stood there, shoulders hunched and heavy, drawing laborious breaths.  Eventually, he answered.

“He brought up the day that I was kicked out of the Qun, the day I became… Tal-Vashoth. He kept bringing up how I would have let my men die.  I could have saved them, but I did nothing.  Now, I’ll have to live with that shame for the rest of my life, and for nothing. I’m still fucking Tal-Vashoth.”

Dorian hadn’t been there that day, but he had heard enough about it from Lavellan and the others to know what had happened.  He knew about the Dreadnaught and about Bull having to choose between the Chargers or the Qun and how, in the end, he chose his men over the people and society who had shaped him. A part of Dorian wished he had been there, standing beside Bull on the Storm Coast, reassuring him that he did the right thing.  But he was a very different man back then, despite how not-so long ago it was.  It was easy to forget that he had not always cared for Bull the way he did now and even such a short time ago he would openly criticize the Bull’s company.

He had been so needlessly stubborn.

“Are you honestly trying to tell me that you think saving the Chargers was all for nothing?”

“Of course not. But I didn’t save them,” Bull growled. “The boss did. When it came time to give the orders, I clammed up.  She told me to sound the retreat.”

“You were torn between following orders or directly disobeying the Qun.  Anyone would have struggled in that moment, Bull.” Dorian shook his head. “How many times had you saved your men before that day.  Krem wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

Dorian felt a pang of admiration for Bull just thinking about it.  He first heard the story about how Bull lost his eye back before anything physical ever happened between them.  It had been one of those moments that forced Dorian to see Iron Bull as something other than the treacherous and horrid Qunari he grew up learning about.

Bull grimaced, shaking his horns.  “None of that matters. I should have been there for them that day and I wasn’t.”

Dorian sighed. “Of course it matters, Bull-“

“No,” Bull repeated. “It doesn’t.”

They were silent for a while, Dorian in his chair watching Bull as he stood rigidly next to his bed, awkwardly shifting his feet under the mage’s gaze. Dorian waited patiently for Bull to say something, but he could still feel his heart rattling against his rib cage.

“Sera…” Bull finally continued. “Sera put the poor kid up to it. Told him to poke around in my head and make me talk about it.  And what do I do? Try to take his head off with my fist. Like some sort of monster.”

Bull slowly sank onto the edge of his bed, as if the weight of the world was finally too much for him to hold.

“Without the Qun, I have nothing.  There is nothing to keep me focused and reasonable.  My whole life I was taught that being Tal-Vashoth ultimately led to one fate, and now I’m one of them.  When I tried to hurt the kid, I lost all control.   I was just so angry and upset and I lost it.  And there’s no guarantee when I’ll lose control again.  I’m a threat to everyone I care about.” Bull paused, breathing slowly. “Especially you.”

Dorian’s breath hitched. It was the first time The Iron Bull had said out right that he cared for Dorian.  Of course Dorian knew that they were friends, but this was more, it _felt_ more. It was the answer to Dorian’s unasked question, what he had been waiting to hear.  It was every reassurance, every acceptance, every invitation; right there in front of him.  Dorian had forgotten to breathe.

Even being across the room from the Bull was too far away.  Dorian slowly stood and, as casually as he could, strolled over to the dresser by Bull’s bed.  He only stopped when he noticed Bull tense slightly, and leaned against the wooden furniture.

“Bull, may I ask you something?” Dorian asked, waiting for bull to nod before he continued. “You said that when you lost control, you were overcome by your emotions.  I can’t help but wonder, have you ever been truly angry with me?” Dorian watched the surprised look on Bull’s face slowly dissolve into confusion.  “And I don’t mean annoyed or disappointed, I mean real, true, anger.” Dorian tilted his head and waited for Bull to think about it. 

“No, I don’t think so…” Bull said, pain still tingeing his voice.

“What about the Chargers? Have any of them ever done something to fill you with uncontrollable rage?”

“No.”

“And what about Cole? Or Sera? Are you angry at them?” Dorian pressed, hiding his shaky hands behind his back.  “Really think about it.  About how you feel about what happened tonight.”

Bull paused for a long time. His good eye stared at the ground while his large hands clenched and un-clenched in his lap. Finally, he answered. “No… I’m not…”

Dorian nodded. “When you tried to strike Cole, who were you angry at?”

“Myself.” Bull’s voice was barely above a mumble. He sounded like a guilty child. Dorian wasn’t sure if he found it endearing or heartbreaking.

Dorian attempted to make his own voice sound as reassuring as he could.  “Bull, in all the time we have spent together, fighting side by side, watching you kill everything from ‘vints to dragons, I have never known you to be an angry man.  At least not towards those you… _care_ about.”

Dorian had to force himself to not whisper the word.  He half expected Bull to take it back or confess that he hadn’t meant the word earlier. But Bull didn’t say anything.

Dorian continued. “Maker knows sometimes I’ve deserved your anger, the way I’ve pushed you and used words to wound you, just to see if I could drive you away.  But you never became angry, ever.”

“You are missing the point,” Bull sighed, clenching his fists again. “None of that matters anymore, not while I’m Tal-Vashoth.  Without the Qun I have no system to base my decisions on, no regulations to keep them in line. It’ll be like Seheron all over again, but this time, there will be no one there to bring me back to reality.”

“I will.” The words flew so quickly from his mouth that Dorian almost didn’t even recognize his own voice. Bull blinked up at him, just as surprised.

Dorian decided to close the gap, easing himself onto the bed next to Bull.  The Qunari didn’t move away.

“From what you’ve told me about Seheron,” Dorian said, “it would have driven anyone mad. You can’t fault yourself for the darkness you felt there.  But that person isn’t who you are, and I’d rather burn my beautiful skin off than let you become that person again.”

Bull didn’t talk about Seheron, just like Dorian didn’t talk about how his father tried to change him. And Dorian was glad of it. Of course, if Bull ever _wanted_ to talk about it, Dorian would listen. But hearing about Bull being in such a state of desperation and complete brokenness was not something Dorian wanted to picture. That was not the man he had grown to lov- _care_ about.

Bull had lowered his head, tucking his chin into his chest. 

“Look at me,” Dorian reached out, running his hand along the stubbled jaw and pulling his chin up, meeting his eyes with Bull’s one.  The Qunari was near tears.  “I won’t let you go down this dark path you’ve conjured in your head. I won’t.  You are far too good to let that happen.  I know you think you will hurt me, but I hope I have proven myself enough in battle to demonstrate that I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.  Of course, if you need a reminder, I can always just flick my wrist and pin you against that far wall with my magic.  You’re muscles will be no use to you there.”

The world outside was gone. All there was was just the two of them in that room.  Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even seemed real.

Bull closed his eye, a tear spilling over and running down along Dorian’s hand, which now rested on Bull’s cheek.  His face was still so sad; it broke Dorian’s heart.  Dorian willed himself not to break or cry himself or lunge into Bull’s lap.

All he could do was try to reassure Bull.  “I believe in you. You are the kindest and gentlest man I have ever known.  You aren’t a savage; you never have been, not outside this bed, or in it either. You are a good man. And I know someday, you will be able to see that and trust your own decisions without having to rely on the rules of the Qun or anyone else to save you.  But until that day comes, I promise to keep you on the right path and keep you from harming anyone, including yourself.  Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Dorian couldn’t help but smile. “Because I trust you. Completely.  I didn’t, when I first met you.  But, as persistent as you were, you proved yourself to me. Not the Qun. You. _The Iron Bull_.  I…”

Dorian paused, pulling his hand from Bull’s cheek.  He knew what he was about to say next.  It was what he had come to say.  Even though he had every intention of confession, the words still caught in his throat.

He swallowed down hard. “I care about you. Deeply.  In ways beyond what I ever expected and deeper than someone who is just fucking a friend ever should.  You have become much _more_ to me than that, Bull.  And that fact is the only thing about you that I find truly frightening.”

He could see Bull twitch under that word.

“Dorian, I would never want to frighten you.”  His voice was low and thick.

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Dorian continued. “And that’s why this is my fault. I should have told you how I felt a long time ago.”

“Dorian…”

“This conversation has scared me so much.  I have avoided wanting to have it.  And you… you knew that and would never want to scare me-“

It wasn’t until after he said they words that the realization of what they meant truly hit Dorian. Up until this point, neither of them had mentioned deeper feelings for each other, but their reasons couldn’t be more different. 

Dorian had avoided telling Bull because he had been so frightened of being hurt, whereas Bull had avoided the conversation because he didn’t want to hurt Dorian by forcing him to do something he was scared to do.  Both of them had been concerned about the same foolish person all along, and admitting it out loud made a lump form in Dorian’s throat. He had been such a selfish man, thinking about his own fears and pain when all Bull thought about was Dorian’s fears and pain as well.  He didn’t deserve the affection of someone so selfless, yet he had it all the same.

“I’m not sure what I’m asking or even really what I’m looking for. Perhaps nothing, and I just felt that I couldn’t let my feelings lay unsaid.  Maybe I just want us to be there for each other.  You have already been there for me during my times of need, so now, I guess, this is me promising to be there for you. Because I will Bull. I don’t want you to feel alone. But, I suppose-“

Bull slipped his hand under Dorian’s chin, tilting his face up and bringing their lips together. It was so soft, so gentle. This kiss seemed like an answer to no question in particular.  Maybe it was the answer to all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Okay, so those of you who have been paying attention to the POV pattern might be confused because this technically should have been a Blackwall chapter. 
> 
> Well, since we are nearing the end of this fic unfortunately things had to get a little shuffled around. Don't worry, we will see more of Blackwall, but I'm pretty sure his POV is complete. 
> 
> If everything goes according to plan, this fic will be concluding on chapter 21 or 22. That being said, I already have plans for my next fic continuing the same universe that all these characters are in. So more happy fun times with the gang!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the copious amount of Aboribull feels. I know I did :3


	19. Finally Coming Together

Light spilled over the mountains, casting bright ribbons of color through the leaves and over the shimmering water.  Morning had come. And Varric couldn’t give a rat’s ass about it.

He felt Cassandra ease in his arms.  She had been crying for a while and it seemed like she finally exhausted herself.  Her gasps grew further apart and her shaking slowed until she sat silently in his embrace.  He wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there, but it didn’t really seem to matter anyways.

She slowly pulled away, wiping her eyes and nose.

“Good?” He asked, leaning in to look at her. 

She lifted her head. Her face was puffy and red, tears still clinging to her lashes.  But those were the only indications that she had cried at all.  Her expression was back to normal; eyebrows drawn downwards, mouth in a hard line, eyes focused.  She nodded sharply and allowed for Varric to help her to her feet.

Cassandra put her clothes back on.  She didn’t seem to mind or notice that her underclothes were still wet and would soon soak through her top layers.  She put on her boots as well. She moved so strangely, neither fast nor slow, both focused and unfocused.  Varric watched as she finished dressing and gathered herself.

And then they walked back in silence, up the rocky pathway towards the keep.  Up past the split in the pathway and where Cassandra had picked the blue flowers.  They followed the rocky path, side-by-side, together.

At one point in their return, they could make out a figure coming towards them from the opposite direction. It wasn’t until all three of them approached the bridge that they realized it was Blackwall.  He was wearing the yellow dress they saw him in earlier, but now it was in tatters.  The sleeves had been ripped clean off and all the seams along the bodice were busted open. The ruffled skirt was stained with dirt and grass and the hem has shredded, causing parts of the fabric to remain connected by mere threads.

He was leading Lavellan’s Hart and Nuggalope back to Skyhold.  The Nuggalope bounced happily by his side, while the Hart was stubbornly resisting the rope the Warden was using to lead it. 

Blackwall grimaced as he approached them.  They all stopped and stared at each other for a few awkward moments.

“It’s been a long night and I’m very tired,” Blackwall sighed, finally breaking the silence. “Can we just agree to not talk about it?”

Cassandra and Varric glanced at each other.  Did they really feel like trying to explain why her clothes were soaked, why her cheeks were stained with tears, or and why they had been in the middle of nowhere, far away, drunk, and completely alone together?

“Agreed,” they said in unison.

The three trudged their way across the bridge, dragging the tired Hart and Nuggalope behind them. Cassandra and Varric followed Blackwall to the stables and stood nearby as he struggled to shove the Hart into its pen.  He threw his weight against its hindquarters, but the great beast simple dug its hooves into the grass and bleated angrily, refusing to pass the threshold of its gate. As if to make it more difficult for the man, the Nuggalope grabbed the hem of his skirt in its mouth and began tugging a in the opposite direction, ripping the already destroyed fabric.

The whole scene was ridiculous, but Cassandra didn’t even look close to cracking a smile. Her expression was distant and troubled. She swayed slightly on her feet, probably still a little drunk from earlier, although the cold lake water probably sobered her up a lot.

Varric watched her and rubbed his neck nervously.  He knew she was thinking about her missing item.  He wanted to cheer her up, but he couldn’t really blame her for feeling down. Maker knew he wasn’t in a cheerful mood himself.  Not after his talk with Cole.

Still, he could at least take her mind off of things.  There was something he wanted to talk to her about, something he had thought about long and hard while she was crying into his arms.  He hesitated to bring it up, but now seemed as good a time as any.

“Seeker, I couldn’t help but wonder…” Varric started, not really sure what exactly he was trying to say.  “Are… are you still trying to rebuild the Seekers?”

Cassandra seemed surprised by his question.  “Well, I… I never really started, at least, not like I had planned to,” she answered. “Things became difficult, and for a while it looked like the Inquisition might not succeed in our efforts. But, since we have been victorious and Corypheus is handled, I would like to begin my rebuilding again. That is, if the Inquisitor is willing to part with my services for a short while.”

“I’m sure she will,” Varric said.  “Listen, I… I’ve been thinking about what you said and I want to be more of a stand-up kind of guy. So, I’d like to help. Rebuild the Seekers, that is. I have a good network going within the Carta that I can use to spread information.  I also have some contacts across Ferelden and the Free Marches that could help spread the cause.  I’ll reach out to them.  But I have to warn you, they aren’t exactly the outstanding citizen types, so they may not want to help at first but I’m sure I can convince them, or at least bribe them.”

Blackwall finally finished shoving the Hart into its pen and managed to close the gate. It huffed loudly before curling up into the hay. The Warden turned his attention to the Nuggalope, who immediately thought they were playing a game and began to run around in circles.

Cassandra blinked at Varric. “I… that is very… generous,” she stammered.  “But… there is no need for you to involve yourself in rebuilding the Seekers. Besides, I was wrong when I said that you were not a stand-up man.  There is no need for you to take on my burdens.  I was angry and I tried to say hurtful things and-“

“No, Seeker,” Varric interrupted.  “You were right. There’s a pattern here, and it makes me feel like a damned idiot for not noticing it before tonight. You were right when you said that I wasn’t a stand-up man and when you said that my motives for helping the Inquisition weren’t as noble as I had thought and when you called me a coward. Truth is, I’ve lived a life of inaction and didn’t even know it.  Because I thought being present was the same as choosing to be involved. I didn’t choose, hardly ever. I let others do the choosing.  It was always the easier and safer thing to do, but there’s no point in me being the one to retell stories if I don’t even play a part in them.

“Besides, I do have a reason to want to help you and the Seekers.  Despite all the shit we went through to get here, with you kidnapping me and interrogating me, and then almost killing me a couple of time, I like to think that we’ve grown to at least tolerate each other, which is a lot better than I can say for most of the people I encounter. I’d even dare to say I consider you a friend.  Which is why I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

He said it. Varric knew it in his heart to be true, all of it.  Kirkwall, the mage rebellion, the Breach, the Inquisition, all the stories he had collected, and for what? He couldn’t even be proud of the dwarf that had been there for those events, because that dwarf _was_ a coward.  Hawke made every hard decision that they had ever encountered together, even regarding what happened to Bartrand.  Varric let Hawke decide where they stood in the rebellion, what to do with Anders and Merrill and Fenris, what they did with the red lyrium. If things went bad, Varric couldn’t be blamed for any of them.  Stay out of the decisions and also stay out of the blame.  Stay on the sidelines.

And then he did it all again with Lavellan.

But no more. He wanted to be a good friend, someone he could be proud of.  It was terrifying, suddenly taking on responsibility for others, he could feel the weight of it already, how heavy it would feel if it failed, but there was no turning back.  He wanted to do this. He had to do this.

And he was glad he was doing it for Cassandra.  He meant it when he said he considered her a friend.  It seemed strange, considering, but after everything how could he not. Sure, she was rough around the edges, but he knew what was inside.  Inside she was a tough, unapologetic, and stubborn idealist.  She carried that weight of the world and never complained. If Varric really was going forward with this new “stand-up man” persona, there was no one he knew more deserving of his help.

He waited for Cassandra’s answer.  Her mouth twisted as she bit at her bottom lip, thinking about what he had said. Her silence felt like ages, and Varric prepared himself for the rejection.  At least he could say that he tried.

“I would be glad for the help, Varric,” Cassandra said.  “Thank you.”

His heart thumped loudly. He felt lighter. He was starting a whole new adventure, but now with a completely different outlook.

He tried to shrug it off. “It’s nothing. They don’t call me the trusty dwarf for nothing.” 

Cassandra opened her mouth to answer, but Blackwall suddenly growled loudly.  They turned to see what had happened.  The Nuggalope had somehow gotten its head and horns stuck underneath Blackwall’s skirt.  In frustration, Blackwall ripped the yellow dress completely off his body and shoved the Nuggalope into its pen, the fabric still wrapped around its horns.

Before the gate was shut, the Nuggalope made sure to give Blackwall a hearty and slobbery lick across the face. Varric failed to not laugh at the sight of the man’s grimace, his beard sticking all which-way with drool.

Finally done, Blackwall came to stand by Cassandra and Varric, smoothing out his drool-covered whiskers.

“Thank Andraste that’s finally finished,” he said, before eyeing Cassandra and Varric. “Out of curiosity, did you two ever get your things back?”

Varric glanced up at Cassandra, who looked deflated. 

“No,” she replied. “No, at the end of it all, we were left sorely disappointed.”

Blackwall’s brows furrowed together. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Cassandra hesitated. “Did you…”

“No,” Blackwall shrugged. “Not yet.”

“Well, even if we don’t get our stuff today, I’m sure we will get them eventually,” Varric said, trying to lighten the mood.  “There’s only so many places she can hide in Skyhold.  We’ll get our stuff sooner or later, don’t worry.”  Varric aimed that last part towards Cassandra, who tried to mask her worried expression with a confident nod.

Blackwall grunted. “Shame,” he said.  “I really thought she would keep her wor-”

A sudden _THWANG_ broke through the air as an arrow impaled the grass at there feet.  They all jumped back, unsure of what was happening until they noticed the red envelope attached.

Varric bent down to pull the arrow from the ground, reading the note tied to it.

He read it aloud.

 

YOU DIDN’T THINK I WAS LYING, DID YA?

AS PROMISED,

YOU PLAY MY GAME

I GIVE YOU YOUR STUFF BACK.

 

There was a sudden _CRACK_ and a billow of smoke bloomed up from their feet.  Varric coughed as he tried to wave the clouds away.  He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear the other two sputtering near him.  When the smoke finally cleared, at their feet lay a crossbow, a book, and a ring.

“Bianca!” Varric exclaimed, picking up his prized bow and embracing it tightly.  In his enthusiasm he almost missed Cassandra grabbing and hugging her pocket book tightly to her chest.

“Oh Bianca, honey, I missed you so much,” Varric gushed, pressing his lips to the wooden frame.

“I’ve never seen such a sweet reunion,” Blackwall teased, slipping the silver ring into his pocket. In the Warden’s other hand was a red envelope.

Varric hadn’t noticed the envelope attached to Bianca until that moment, or the one that had been inside Cassandra’s book.  Varric took his note, ripped it open, and read it.

 

NOW YOU’RE SMOOSHY ON THE OUTSIDE AND INSIDE.

GOOD JOB. KNEW YOU COULD DO IT.

 

Varric smirked. “Well, I guess she really is a thief of her word, huh Seeker… Seeker?”

Varric glanced up to see Cassandra reading her note from Sera.  Her eyes met with Varric’s, and she smiled.

“What’d Buttercup say to you?” Varric asked, eyeing the red envelope.

Cassandra handed it to him to read. It said:

 

SORRY ‘BOUT THAT.

HAD TO SHOW YOU THAT THINGS CAN’T ALWAYS GO ACCORDING TO PLAN.

JUST KNOW WHEN THEY DON’T, YOU’RE NEVER ALONE

YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE

YOUR FRIENDS.

 

Varric couldn’t help but grin. It had all been part of the plan, just like Buttercup said.  All the pieces were finally coming together—getting them drunk to loosen them up, getting them to talk and open up, forcing Varric to be alone with his thoughts as he sat unhelpfully on the shore, showing Cassandra that things still turn out okay when they don’t go according to plan or the rules—and they had actually learned a thing or two over the course of the night.  Now Varric had actually volunteered his time and service to helping Cassandra, which meant there was one less burden that she had to carry alone.  Two completely different reformations that occurred at the same time, without them even realizing it.

Buttercup had actually pulled it off.

Blackwall read his note quietly and gave a great, rumbling chuckle.

“And what about you, Hero?” Varric asked, cocking a brow. “You gonna share with us Buttercup’s words of wisdom to you?”

Blackwall tucked the note away and shook his head, laughing. “Trust me,” he said.  “If Sera has her way, you’ll find out what it said soon enough.”

Varric wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but decided it was best to just let it go.

“Well then,” Blackwall continued.  “Now what are we to do?”

“I’m guessing the Great Game is over,” Varric said.  “It’s already morning, so I bet you the kitchen staff is up and ready. We can probably grab ourselves something to eat, if you’re interested?”

Cassandra grew pale. She swayed slightly on her feet and groaned.  “Ugh, please. Don’t talk about eating. I think I’m might be sick.”

Blackwall gave Varric a quizzical look, but he just shrugged.

“That’ll be the Goodbye Cure, finally catching up to ya.  Trust me when I say, I know exactly how you’re feeling.  Which is lucky for you, because I also happen to know the best remedy.”

Cassandra closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.  “Please, don’t say what I think you are going to say-”

“More drinks!”

Cassandra groaned again, this time louder.

The Nuggalope, who was still very much awake in its pen, watched as the three of them slowly made their way towards the keep, just as the rest of Skyhold began to stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!


	20. A Clash of Gold and Wood

“OW!”

“Stop squirming.”

“But it hurts!”

Dorian gave an exasperated sigh.  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt if you just took a healing potion like I said, instead of insisting on wrapping it.”

Dorian held Bull’s bloodied knuckles and attempted to wrap them in bandages. The poor wrap job was mostly due to the fact that the Bull could not stop wriggling his fingers and complaining about how tight the bandages were.  Bull knew Dorian had plenty of extra healing potions back in his room and Dorian kept eyeing the door as if he wanted to go fetch one-

“No,” Bull grunted. “I told you.  I want it to scar.”  He lowered his voice and muttered, “I don’t just want to forget it happened.”

Dorian’s eyes warmed and his lips curved upwards as he failed to conceal a smile.  Bull noticed it all. 

“Then stop moving and let me finish,” he demanded, trying to sound irritated.

Bull did just that and Dorian finished tying the bandage off.  Bull looked at his hand, flexing it in the wrappings to make sure it wouldn’t slip off.

“Good,” he grunted, satisfied with the mage’s handiwork.

There was a slight pause. The Qunari and the mage sat side by side on the bed, watching each other.  The pain that Bull had felt just an hour ago seemed so far away now, and he knew it was thanks to Dorian.

“Now what?” Bull asked softly, tilting his head towards Dorian.  Part of him wished Dorian was still holding on to his hand and wrapping it, that they were still touching.

Dorian blinked up at him. “I.. I guess-“

There was a knock at the door. Dorian and Bull exchanged confused looks.  When no one entered, Bull watched as the mage went to the door and slowly opened it.

Bull didn’t ask anything, instead watched as Dorian slowly bent down and picked something up off the floor.

“It’s for us…” Dorian said, holding things in his hands and turning them over slowly.

He walked back to the bed slowly, never taking his eyes from the objects.  Bull could make out the shape and color of a golden chain from between Dorian’s fingers in one hand.

“Bull?” Dorian asked, leaning against the dresser across from the Qunari.  “Is _this_ your most important possession?”

Dorian held his palm flat for Bull to see, even though the Qunari already knew what would be there.   Against the flat of his palm was a small, wooden seal.  It was stained from years of pressing into wax on envelopes and parchment, with a smooth, rounded handle that almost looked too small for Bull’s giant grip. Along the flat part, carved into the wood was the diamond-like symbol of the Qunari.

Dorian glanced at it, a confused expression on his face.  Bull closed his eye.  He didn’t want to see that expression.

“No,” Bull sighed. “Not really.”

“But, this is the object that Sera took from you, isn’t it?”

“It is. She thinks it’s important, but it’s not,” Bull explained.  “Not like how you may think.  I don’t really attach myself to material things, not like the way that Varric does to Bianca. My things of importance are for their practicality, like my axe and my brace, but I think what Sera was trying to do was take what it represented rather than the seal itself.”

Dorian nodded slowly. Bull could see the wheels turning in the mage’s head as he tried to slowly understand.

“What does it represent?” Dorian asked.  “You said that you didn’t regret leaving the Qun to save your men.”

“And I don’t.”

“Then why keep it?” Dorian asked.  “Did you plan on reaching out to the Qun again?”

Bull forced his attention on his fresh bandages, flexing and un-flexing his hand. He focused there, rather than Dorian’s confused expression.  Explaining anything about the Qun was difficult, but Dorian seemed to make it more so.

“I thought I had kept it as a way of planning ahead, in case I ever had to forge a letter or get in contact with someone.”  Bull grew quiet. “But now I’m not so sure why I kept it.”

He wasn’t lying, not even to himself.  It had already been an exhausting night and Bull didn’t really have the strength or desire to fight it anymore.  He really thought he kept the seal just in case.  He had used it to send countless letters filled with information back to the Qun. It could have come in handy in the future. Maybe the boss would need it for something.  It was practical to keep it.  But maybe that wasn’t the only reason he had held onto the seal…

Such a short time ago Dorian had convinced him that everything would be okay, that he didn’t have to be afraid of himself; that maybe there was nothing to fear at all. But maybe he had kept the seal as a way of preserving the control he had left, that holding onto that little piece of wood was somehow keeping him intact until tonight.

“I…” Dorian breathed, obviously picking his words. “Did… you not want me to know about this?”

“I didn’t purposefully not tell you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bull sighed, somewhat defeated. “I just… didn’t think you’d understand.”

Before the night had started, Bull hadn’t told Dorian about the seal and thought nothing of it. When he noticed it was missing and had assumed Dorian found it, Bull prepared for the conversation where he would explain the logic behind keeping something so useful. But now… now it all seemed so _different_.

He couldn’t expect Dorian to understand. Bull didn’t expect anyone to understand, not when he himself couldn’t fully grasp his emotions just yet.  Things he had known to be true had been shattered and things he had always feared had become nonsense, and Bull couldn’t even make heads or tails of it all.

Bull’s eye was still on his bandaged hand, but he could sense Dorian thoughtfully nod and slowly sink back onto the bed next to Bull.  Dorian set the seal down on the bed between them and, after a few silent moments, he placed something on top of Bull’s bandaged hand—a golden amulet with an incredibly intricate and embellished design.

“This is my important object,” Dorian said softly. “It’s my birthright.”

Bull picked up the solid, and somehow still delicate, piece and turned it over gently in his large fingers.  The design was undeniably Tevinter in nature and the elegance and craftsmanship of the precious metals and stones made it clearly very valuable.

“Bull,” Dorian sighed. Bull could feel his breath on his shoulder. “I know what its like to be cast out from the place you came from.  You were there the day my father decided to meet with me, and I’m not foolish enough to believe that you didn’t hear every word of that conversation.”

Bull turned to look Dorian in the eye.

Bull and Blackwall had waited outside while the boss and Dorian unknowingly met with his father in Redcliffe.  Bull could remember the entire day vividly.  He could hear the voices and shouting as the confrontation took place. He remembered the boss leaving Dorian alone to talk and the way she paced outside the door, nervous and composed and ready to jump back in if Dorian called her.  And Bull remembered the pit in his stomach as he watched Dorian’s face the entire ride back, that vacant, hollow look that made Dorian appear so… _broken_.

This was the first time Dorian had even mentioned that day to Bull.  Bull never asked Dorian about it and Dorian never brought it up. It was as if it had never even happened and Bull was okay with that if that was what Dorian wanted. If Dorian wanted it to not be real, it didn’t have to be.

But it was real. And Dorian was bringing it up and Bull found himself nodding painfully, his full attention on the man’s face.

Dorian’s brows puckered together in sadness.  “It might seem silly for the object that Sera took from me to be the namesake of the family that is disgusted by my existence.  But the truth is, they are still my family.  And Tevinter is still my home.  And that part of me, no matter how much pain it brings, will never change. So I know what it’s like to feel torn. To feel like someplace that is far away is still so much a part of you.”

Dorian bit at his lip, hesitating.  Bull could feel the mage wanting to continue, but stopped himself from doing so.  Bull made sure not to move, afraid that if he did, he might frighten Dorian away from sharing further.

Thankfully, Dorian continued.

“Also, I know how you feel about Tevinter.  That is why I didn’t tell you about this.”  Dorian gestured towards the amulet in Bull’s hand, but Bull didn’t break eye contact. “I also made Lavellan swear never to tell anyone when she helped me retrieve it, especially not you. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand why it was so important to me, why I still plan on returning to Tevinter and trying to save it.  And I’m still afraid that you won’t be able to see past it or understand, considering how much the Qun still means to you.  I understand if you want to end… whatever this is between us because of it. I just…” Dorian’s voice broke slightly and he paused, “I hope you understand.”

Bull watched as Dorian’s beautiful face crumpled as he stubbornly fought back tears. It made Bull’s chest tighten and his breath hitch.  He _felt_ it—that deep admiration he had for Dorian. It was like the admiration that tickled him when Dorian made eyes at him from across the Tavern, or when Bull watched Dorian sleep and focused on how the mage breathed, or when Bull found out Dorian had been going out of his way to talk to the Chargers and slowly get know them.  Normally, like all those times, it was a warm sensation of admiration he had felt for Dorian; warm and welcoming and spreading all across his body and forcing Bull to fight back a smile.  But this time was different.

This time it was cold. Cold and solid and urgent and fierce. It struck Bull across his heart and turned all his limbs to led and he wanted nothing more than to turn and hold Dorian forever.  In that moment, if Dorian had asked Bull to throw himself from the battlements, he might have. Bull wanted to scream and lash out with the ferocity with which he cared for Dorian.

But he didn’t. Instead, Bull gently set Dorian’s birthright on the bed beside the seal and took the mage’s hands into his own. Dorian blinked up at him.

“I love killing ‘vints, only second to killing dragons,” Bull started, drawing in a deep breath. “But if Tevinter is the reason why you are exactly the way you are, then it can’t possibly be bad. I meant it when I said that I cared about you, Dorian.  I’ve known who you are and where you come from, and that has never changed what I thought of you. I understand why you would want to go back eventually.  In fact, I think if anyone can do some good for the ‘vints, it’s you.”

Dorian’s lips quivered up into a smile.  He leaned into Bull’s chest. Bull nuzzled the top of his head, kissing it gently.

“Pieced together… like strands in a basket… woven, weaving, fitted with no holes…”

“COLE!” Bull and Dorian jerked apart to see the spirit boy sitting on the opposite side of the room, watching them through pale eyes.

Cole smiled. “Hello Dorian, The Iron Bull, Sera said I could bring your things back, as a way of apologizing for making The Iron Bull hurt.  I’m sorry I listened to your conversation after I brought them to you.  Vivienne told me that it is rude to listen when people talk and cannot see me, but I was not sure if seeing me would make you hurt more.   I am sorry for that, too.”

Cole hung his head, his large brimmed hat almost reaching his knees.

“No kid, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Bull answered urgently.  “I never should have attacked you like that.”

Bull wondered if Cole knew that he had searched for him when the Qunari finally came to his senses. He hoped that Cole had not been afraid of him.  It didn’t appear that Cole was currently afraid, and that helped ease Bull’s mind a little.

Cole raised his head, his face confused.  “But I was pushing in the tender spots… watching the way they changed color… blue like sadness to red, and then white when I pushed hard… Sera told me to, but I also _wanted_ to… “

Bull closed his eye hard, shaking his head.  “But that’s no reason for the way I acted.  No reason for me to ever lose control like that.  For that, I’m sorry.”

Bull had lost control. He had tried to hurt Cole. But that was never going to happen again.

“I knew I shouldn’t,” Cole murmured,  “But pushing felt like I could push the hurt right out… like it was helping…”

“It did, kid. It helped.”

Cole beamed, rocking merrily side-to side in his seat.

“Good,” he said. “Oh, Sera has a message for the two of you.  She was happy that you finally talked and finished her game.  I can’t quite remember what she said, but it was something about how ‘you two need to be getting’ to slappin’ sausages or somefin’ and how she’s proud of you ‘bung-holes’.”

Dorian gave a hearty laugh; the coal at the corner of his eyes smudged from his earlier tears. “I expected nothing less from Sera,” he quipped. “Thank you, Cole.”

Cole nodded happily before vanishing.

There was a content silence that filled the room.  Bull looked at Dorian who was still smiling.  The birthright and seal were on the bed between them, a clash of gold embellishment and wood on the blankets.

It didn’t take long for Dorian to find his way back to Bull’s chest and an even shorter amount of time for them to get even closer.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg did I ACTUALLY get to updating this fic?! YES I DID!
> 
> I am so sorry guys, it's literally been forever. Work and life have been crazy, plus I didn't want to write anything until I finished all the DLC (I wanted to stay within the realm of canon… kinda?)
> 
> But I hope it was worth the wait. One more chapter to go!


	21. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I actually finish this story almost 2 years later? Yes, yes I did. Sorry for the wait and enjoy :)

It didn’t take long for the rest of Skyhold to notice that something had happened while they slept. Guards and refugees alike shared confused and intrigued murmurs over the bits of shredded periwinkle and yellow fabric strewn about and the chunks of ice at the base of the entrance stairs. The servants grumbled and searched for a culprit behind the feathers that covered the grounds and the huge water mess in the Underkeep. Even though everyone knew something had happened, no one was quite sure who or what was responsible.

Varric, Cassandra, and Blackwall were enjoying their morning meals when word spread that the Inquisitor would be arriving back at Skyhold around mid-afternoon that day, giving them enough time for a bath and a rest before heading to the gate to wait for her arrival. It was then that a very content-looking Dorian and Iron Bull joined their party.

"I see you are all here and looking rested," Dorian smiled. "I believe it is safe to assume that you have completed Sera's puzzle as well. I offer you my congratulations."

"I suppose that means we all have completed the game. Has anyone seen or heard from Sera since last night?" Cassandra asked, looking around the crowd. The Inquisitor's arrival was always a happy occasion and guards, servants, merchants, and guests alike clambered to the front gate to greet her as she entered.

"Not a peep," Varric sighed. "And I hope she stays quiet. I don't think I can handle any more surprises, at least for a while."

They all nodded in agreement.

“You two seem awfully comfortable,” Cassandra said, raising an eyebrow towards Bull and Dorian. Bull had wrapped a large arm around the mage, who wasn’t acting mortified or trying to wriggle away from the display of affection.

“Yes, well perhaps the lack of sleep has had some effect on me,” Dorian sniffed, trying to conceal the blush in his cheeks. He glanced at Cassandra and Varric,“Besides, I could say the same thing about you two.”

Bull snorted. It had been hard to miss the way the Seeker and the dwarf had been smiling and chatting all morning, like a pair of young girls practically giggling and braiding each other’s hair.

Varric shrugged. “Don’t be jealous, Sparkler. There’s enough of me to go around.” He let out a laugh as he watched Cassandra roll her eyes. “Hey Hero, you okay?”

Blackwall was standing beside them, clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes were locked on the closed gate, watching.

“Yes,” he grunted. “Leave it at that.”

“Nervous, naked… what if’s and what then’s… no longer the time for questions… Sera was right…” Cole stood beside him, rocking on his heels.

“Er- thanks, Cole,” Blackwall stuttered.

The spirit grinned proudly.

There was a shout to open the gates and, shortly after, a small caravan of horses marched into Skyhold.  In two lines, the horses veered right towards the stables, stopping short of the crowd that was now applauding.  The caravan had been led by Cullen, followed by a tired looking Josephine and at their side, sitting atop a white mare was Lavellan.

She gave a friendly wave to the cheering crowd, fatigue unable to waiver that cheerful smile.  

Cullen swiftly jumped from his steed and handed his reins to a near guard, stepping to the Inquisitor's side and offering his hand.  "Inquisitor, would you like help down?"

She chuckled, leaping down gracefully on her own. "I am quite alright, thank you, Commander."  She turned and stroked her mare's face lovingly before placing a hand on Cullen's chest plate, just as affectionately. "If you keep insisting on helping me up and down my mounts I will begin to worry that you believe me a soft Inquisitor, incapable of helping herself."

Cullen blushed. "No, of course not. I apologize."

"Though, I do believe Josephine would be grateful for that hand down," she smiled, her eyes twinkling. 

Cullen fidgeted awkwardly. "Of course, Inquisitor."  He gave a small bow, before turning to help the ambassador.

Lavellan spun on her heels to face her companions.  "It's good to be back," she sighed.

"It's good to have you back," Varric smirked, folding his arms. "How was the trip?"

"Dreadfully long and pointless.  The Tevinter council we spoke with basically just wanted to use the Inquisition to spread some sort of propaganda. We told them we'd consider, at least that was what Josephine said we should tell them.  I didn't like it at all. I don't trust them, no offense Dorian." 

"None taken my dear," Dorian shrugged.

Lavellan clapped her hands together eagerly. "Well, it's all over and I'm back. And I've missed you all so! I'm thinking food first-I'm famished. Maybe food in bed? And you all should join! We can sleep and eat and you can tell me about everything that I missed while I was away."

"Missed? Why in Maker's name would you think you missed anything?"  Cassandra asked, her voice slightly betraying her.  Her eyes darted around the rest of the group as they all shook their heads and feigned ignorance.  Though they had never discussed concealing Sera's game from the Inquisitor, Cassandra was glad that it seemed like everyone else just wanted to let last night go undiscussed as much as she did.

"I am sorry to hear that," Lavellan said. "I had rather hoped you all had some news to welcome me back with."

Suddenly, Blackwall broke away from the group in a brisk stride.  He stepped purposefully towards the dismounted caravan.  Josephine was ordering some guards to take documents and goods up to the Keep, her hair slightly disheveled from the travel and her cheeks flush from the sun.

She noticed his approaching. "Blackwall, good afternoon. How are y-"

Before she could utter another word, Blackwall grabbed the ambassador by the waist and dipped her into a deep, sweeping kiss.  Cullen, who had been the closest to Josephine, stuttered embarrassedly and turned to face away.  Iron Bull laughed and whooped from the side. The rest of the company stared, blinking and slack-jawed. 

"See?" Varric chuckled. "You missed nothing."

 

\---

 

Hours after the arrival excitement had settled down, Sera was still in her room, cleaning the goop and feathers that covered almost every surface.  Normally cleaning up other people's messes would leave her grumbling and annoyed, but this mess left her feeling a little victorious.

She had nearly gotten the last of the feathers when Lavellan appeared in her doorway. "You weren't at the gate when I got back. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you weren't happy to have me back."  If the Inquisitor noticed the disarray or missing door from the entrance, she gave no hint of it.  Instead, she just folded her arms and leaned in the empty frame.

"Wot? You all bitter cos I didn't come out to greet ya?" Sera teased. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that crowd was starting ta go to your big, fat melon head." The sounds of the bard's song wafted up from the tavern below and Sera could barely make out the clanging from The Charger's training through her glass windows.

Lavellan giggled. "It is a bit much, isn't it?"

"If by 'much' you mean 'okay we get it, you're the Inquisitor, you killed Coryphifish and everyone kisses your bum, blah blah blah'."

"That is definitely what I meant," she smiled.

Sera quickened her cleaning and stashed the last of the feathers under a book. She plopped down onto her pillows, an impish grin on her face.  "So, wot brings ya here? Come ta say hello?"

"Actually, I came to talk," Lavellan said, a confused look on her face.  "It's the strangest thing. Everyone keeps insisting that things were uneventful at Skyhold while I was away, but things just seem... different.  Bull and Dorian have been very... intimate. Cole has been friendlier than normal and keeps telling people that 'he helped.' Cassandra has also been rather perky this morning, now that I think about it. And Varric has informed me that he will be taking some time from the Inquisition to assist her with her desires to rebuild the Seekers. And Blackwall... has made his romantic intentions towards Josephine abundantly clear-"

Sera cackled wildly, rocking from side to side and slapping her hand against the seat.

Lavellan pressed on, her voice leading. "You wouldn't happen to know what happened to inspire these transitions, would you?"

Sera wiped the tears from her face. "No," she howled. "I haven't got the teensiest weensiest idea!"

The Inquisitor nodded, knowingly. She stepped into the room, examining the bookshelf that still had some black gooey stains.  "Hm, shame. Well, whatever happened, I can't deny that I am pleased with the developments. It would take a truly wise, thoughtful, and caring friend to pull a feat off that could inspire and heal so many..." Her voice trailed off as she smiled.

Sera blew a raspberry. "Don't get all wishy-washy and start blubberin' over nothin'. Nothin' happened.  Maybe Cole just got too clumsy and jumbled up their brains while he was in there on accident or somethin'."

Lavellan laughed, her silver hair bouncing on her shoulders. "Maybe."

She turned to leave but suddenly paused. "Oh," she continued. "I know that we established that nothing happened, but _if_ something _did_ happen and the others wanted to get retribution for whatever reason, I think it would only be fair if I didn't step in to protect the individual responsible and gave the others every opportunity to pay that individual back."

"Pshh, I'd like ta see 'em tr- er, I mean, that only sounds fair," Sera bluffed.  

The Inquisitor nodded and walked out, leaving Sera alone.  The elf smiled wickedly before stretching out across her pillows to catch up on some sleep. She had had a pretty busy night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read, liked, and commented on this fic. I enjoyed writing it a lot (even though it literally took me forever to finish).


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